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THE 


CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS: 


A TALE  . 

OF 

®l)c  Ivisl)  Rebellion  of  1641. 

MserV  /4y\K<2L> 

MRS.  J.  SADLIEE,  ^ ZjAj 

AUTHOR  OF  “NEW  LIGHTS,”  “ BLAKES  AND  FLANAGANS,”  “WILLY  BURAE,” 

“RED  HAND  OF  ULSTER,”  ETC. 

Rebellion  ! foul,  dishonoring  word, 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain’d 
The  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 
Of  mortal,  ever  lost  or  gain’d. 

How  many  a spirit  born  to  bless, 

Hath  sunk  beneath  its  withering  name; 

Whom  but  a day’s,  an  hour’s  success, 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame ! 

Moore’s  Lalla  Eoofch. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.  & J.  SADLIER  & CO.,  31  BARCLAY  STREET; 

BOSTON:— 128  FEDERAL  STREET; 

MONTREAL  : — COR.  OF  NOTRE  DAME  & ST.  FRANCIS  XAVIER  STREETS. 

1864. 


BOSTON  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS 


ps 

. S^-3 

C65X 

j 2 b ^ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 
D.  & J.  SADLIEE  & CO., 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


It  is  a common  saying,  even  amongst  Irish  people,  that  Irish 
history  is  about  the  driest  history  known  to  us.  There  may  be 
some  truth  in  the  remark,  for  the  fact  is  that  Ireland  of  all  coun- 
tries, has  never  yet  been  fairly  represented  on  the  page  of  history. 
In  this  she  has  had  reason  to  complain,  for  although  her  sons  have 
done  much  for  the  historic  fame  of  other  countries,  they  have,  for 
the  most  part,  wholly  neglected  that  of  their  own.  If  Goldsmith 
had  but  done  for  Ireland  what  he  did  for  England,  then  the  per- 
sonages of  Ireland’s  eventful  drama  would  be  as  familiarly  known 
as*  are  those  of  English  history, — our  O’Neils  and  O’Donnels 
would  bear  comparison  with  the  Russels  and  the  Sidneys,  and  the 
Hampdens, — our  Desmonds,  and  Geraldines,  and  Butlers  would 
stand  on  a level  with  the  Warwicks,  the  Percys,  and  the  Douglases 
of  British  story,  and  Brian  Boromhe  and  Art  McMurrough  would 
shine  out  from  the  darkness  of  their  times  with  as  true  a lustre 
as  that  which  gilds  the  names  of  the  English  Alfred  and  the 
Scottish  Bruce.  The  sons  and  daughters  of  Ireland  in  foreign 
countries  would  not  then  have  to  ask:  “Who  on  earth  is  Owen 
Roe  ? — who  is  Hugh  O’Neil  ? — who  is  Oliver  Plunket  ? — What  in 
the  world  did  they  do  that  people  keep  talking  so  about  them  T 
Oh  ! what  wonder  is  it  that  such  ignorance  prevails,  such  deplo- 
rable ignorance,  with  regard  to  the  history  of  Ireland  ? What 
effort  has  ever  been  made  to  invest  it  with  charms  for  the  rising 
generation  to  whom  history  is  of  itself  a dry  study  ? 

We  of  the  Irish  race  owe  a debt  to  our  departed  worthies  which 
we  cannot  too  soon  set  about  paying.  Their  efforts  to  redeem 
the  land  of  their  love  were  unhappily  for  the  most  part  unsuc- 
cessful, but  the  fault  was  not  theirs — they  were  great  and  noble 
in  their  generation — they  did  great  things  for  Ireland — they  have 
left  us  their  fame  as  a legacy — shall  we  not  avail  ourselves  of  it 
to  ennoble  our  country  and  give  her  that  place  amongst  the  na- 
tions to  which  the  glory  of  her  sons  entitles  her  ? No  country 
under  heaven  has  had  more  heroic  deeds  done  for  her — no  coun- 
try holds  a higher  place  in  the  martyrology  of  nations  (so  to 
speak) — no  history  more  chequered  than  hers,  or  marked  by 
more  striking  vicissitudes,  more  stirring  events,  deeper  shadows 
or  more  radiant  lights.  How  then  is  it  so  little  known,  and  when 
partially  known  so  little  cared  for  ? Precisely  because  the  romance 


4 


PREFACE. 


of  our  history  is  left  in  the  background, — the  facts,  even  when 
told  over,  are  presented  to  the  reader  in  the  driest  and  least  at- 
tractive manner  possible.  What  young  person  will  think  of  read- 
ing the  Four  Masters,  McGeogegan,  Lanigan,  Keating,  or  OTIal- 
loran  ? The  very  sight  of  those  ponderous  volumes  would  deter 
most  people  from  opening  them  in  search  of  “ Irish  story,”  and, 
even  though  they  did  summon  courage  to  “ look  in,”  the  formid- 
able array  of  long  (and  apparently)  unpronouneable  Milesian 
names  would  be  more  than  enough  to  damp  their  curiosity  and 
give  them  a distaste  for  further  research.* 

The  annals  of  Ireland  have  been  not  inaptly  likened  to  a 
skeleton ; a heap  of  dry  bones,  which  require  the  prophet’s  breath 
to  infuse  life  into  them,  and  clothe  them  with  the  vesture  of 
humanity.  To  follow  up  the  comparison — as  the  student  of 
anatomy  takes,  bone  by  bone,  and  joint  by  joint,  the  wonderful 
piece  of  mechanism  which  forms  our  body,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
a perfect  knowledge  of  the  whole,  so  would  I endeavor  to  dissect 
the  corpus  of  Irish  history,  and  presenting  it  piece  by  piece  to 
the  reader,  give  a knowledge  of  each  in  detail.  This  is  what 
I have  done  in  the  work  now  placed  before  the  reader.  I 
have  taken  the  Religious  War  — commonly  called  the  Great 
Rebellion — which  convulsed  Ireland  from  1641  to  1652,  and 
clothed  the  dry  bones  of  the  principal  actors  on  both  sides 
with  the  flesh  of  their  mortality,  and  breathed  into  them  the 
breath  of  life,  so  that  they  might  speak  and  tell  their  own 
story  to  all  who  are  disposed  to  listen.  I have  woven  a thread 
of  fiction — a slender  thread,  too — through  the  stirring  events  of 
that  “hero-age,”  just  enough  to  keep  the  dramatis  personce grouped 
together.  In  adhering  so  faithfully  to  the  historical  narrative,  I 
may  have  rendered  the  book  less  interesting  to  those  who  love 
mystery  and  crave  exeitement,  but  it  was  not  to  pander  to 
morbid  and  unhealthy  appetites  that  I undertook  a work  requir- 
ing so  much  patient  research ; nor  is  it  for  the  mere  novel  reader 
that  I write  now  or  at  any  other  time.  To  those  who  love  Ireland 
and  can  appreciate  her  fidelity  to  her  ancient  faith,  the  sufferings 
she  has  endured,  and  the  heroic  efforts  which  her  children  have 
made  in  times  past  to  free  her  from  civil  and  religious  bondage,  I 
make  no  apology  for  the  undue  proportion  of  historical  matter  in 
this  story,  they  will  value  it  all  the  more  for  being  “ an  ower  true 
tale.” 

* The  Popular  History  of  Ireland  now  appearing  from  the  pen  of  our  dis- 
tinguished countryman  T.  D,  McGee,  bids  fair  to  supply  this  want. 


THE 


CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

“ Is  Iran’s  pride,  then,  gone  for  ever, 

Quenched  with  the  flame  in  Mithra’s  caves  ? — 

No — she  has  sons  that  never — never — 

Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem’s  slaves, 

While  heaven  has  light,  or  earth  has  graves.” 

Moore’s  Lalla  Rookh. 

The  long  dreary  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James,  her  successor, 
had  passed  over  bleeding,  suffering  Ireland  like  a hideous  dream, 
and  the  persecuted  Catholics  of  that  country  hailed  the  accession 
of  Charles  I.  to  the  throne  of  his  father,  as  the  dawn  of  a day 
that  was  to  bring  them  peace  and  rest.  For  the  king  spoke  them 
fair  and  made  many  soothing  promises,  and  they,  in  their  exu- 
berant loyalty,  and  in  the  gush  of  newly-awakened  hope,  be- 
lieved every  word  he  said,  nor  dreamed  that  the  faithlessness  of 
all  his  race  had  descended  upon  this  young  prince,  whose  preco- 
cious gravity  of  demeanor  and  affected  generosity  of  sentiment  wTere 
alike  calculated  to  impose  on  the  credulous  and  unsuspecting. 
But  the  king  wanted  money,  as  the  Stuart  princes  always  did,  and 
who  so  ready  as  the  Irish  Catholics  to  supply  it,  hoping  thereby 
to  secure  the  monarch’s  favor,  and  to  obtain  from  his  gratitude 
at  least,  if  not  his  justice,  those  concessions  which  might  raise 


6 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


them  nearer  the  level  of  the  other  subjects  of  the  realm.  Plun- 
dered and  dispossessed  of  their  estates  by  the  wholesale  confisca- 
tions of  the  previous  reigns,  it  is  matter  of  astonishment  to  us  at 
this  day  that  anything  was  left  them  to  give.  Undoubtedly  the 
native  chieftains  were  many  of  them  landless  men,  stripped  of 
their  immense  possessions  by  the  crying  injustice  of  English  sov- 
ereigns and  their  willing  agents,  the  Lords  Deputies  of  Ireland. 
But  the  Catholics  of  the  Pale  were  not  so  bankrupt  in  this  world’s 
goods — they  being  of  English  descent  had  been  somewhat  more 
leniently  dealt  with,  and  the  fairest  and  richest  portion  of  the 
island  was  still  in  their  hands.  They,  then,  were  better  able  to 
advance  money,  and  it  is  probable  the  greater  portion  of  the 
subsidies  came  from  them — who  but  they  had  it  to  give  'l  How- 
ever it  was,  no  less  a sum  than  one  hundred  and  twenty  thou- 
sand 'pounds — an  enormous  sum  in  that  age — was  sent  over  by 
the  Catholics  of  Ireland  as  a peace-offering  to  the  king.  The 
money  once  received,  Charles  thought  no  more  of  the  promised 
“ graces,”  and  the  work  of  persecution  and  spoliation  went  on  in 
Ireland  with  undiminished  violence,  under  the  truculent  and  re- 
morseless Strafford,  the  devoted  henchman  of  the  faithless  king. 
The  Catholics,  amazed  and  disappointed,  petitioned  and  remon- 
strated— reminded  the  king  of  the  gracious  promises  which  had 
beguiled  them  into  hope,  and  of  the  solemn  contract  into  which 
he  had  entered  with  them,  but  Charles  gave  them  no  sort  of  satis- 
faction, and  his  minister  in  Ireland  silenced  their  just  complaints 
with  insult  and  mockery,  and  proceeded,  with  that  diabolical 
ingenuity  which  was  characteristic  of  the  man,  to  invent  new 
schemes  of  robbery  for  the  benefit  of  his  unworthy  master.  The 
Commission  of  Defective  Titles  was  appointed  for  the  modest  and 
laudable  purpose  of  dispossessing  the  Chieftains  of  Connaught  of 
their  remaining  lands  and  hereditaments — the  pretence  was  to 
examine  into  the  titles  of  all  the  estates  of  the  Province,  but  the 
examination  was  only  a legal  farce.  The  juries  were  in  every 
instance  coerced  by  the  tyrant  Strafford  into  finding  for  the  king. 
In  fact,  no  alternative  was  left  them.  If  they  declared  in  favor 
of  the  owners  of  the  property,  their  own  goods  were  confiscated, 
and  their  persons  dragged  to  Dublin  to  undergo  the  tortures  of 
the  hell-devised  Star  Chamber,  so  that  no  alternative  was  left 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


7 


them  hut  to  find  the  existing  title  Defective , and  by  their  verdict 
to  turn  an  ancient  family  out  of  its  possessions,  to  swell  the  ranks 
of  the  landless  and  beggared  men  who  formed  the  great  bulk  of 
the  native  gentry. 

But  the  work  of  iniquity  did  not  prosper  with  either  Charles 
Stuart  or  his  factotum,  Stratford.  The  Irish  nation  was  bound  hand 
and  foot,  as  they  thought,  and  the  remaining  inheritance  of  its  loyal 
and  long-suffering  sons  transferred  in  cash  to  the  coffers  of  the 
English  king,  but  the  all-seeing  eye  of  a just  God  was  on  them 
and  their  deeds  of  darkness  were  registered  above.  Even  when 
their  power  seemed  at  the  highest,  their  doom  was  recorded,  and 
the  crash  of  their  fall  resounded  through  the  civilized  world. 
The  same  party  whom  the  king,  in  his  selfish  blindness,  permitted 
to  harry  and  distress  his  faithful  subjects  in  Ireland,  in  England 
and  in  Scotland,  rose  up  in  arms  against  him,  and  by  a signal 
stroke  of  retributive  justice  Strafford  first,  and  himself  at  a later 
period,  suffered  death  at  the  hands  of  the  ruthless  fanatics  who 
were  armed  with  power  to  smite  them.  When  the  king’s  affairs 
became  desperate,  his  enemies  many  and  powerful,  and  his  friends 
few,  he  was  forced  to  recall  Strafford  from  Ireland,  hoping  that 
his  tried  fidelity,  indomitable  courage,  and  known  ability,  might 
help  to  extricate  him  from  the  toils  in  which  his  own  duplicity 
had  ensnared  him.  Vain  and  short-sighted  calculations!  The 
measure  of  Strafford’s  iniquity  wa's  full,  and  the  hands  which  had 
exercised  such  cruelties  on  the  long-enduring  Irish  Catholics 
were  soon  manacled  by  the  fierce  Puritans  and  rendered  power- 
less for  evil  or  for  good.  His  subsequent  fate  is  well  known  to 
all  readers  of  history,  but  before  his  haughty  neck  was  laid  on 
the  block,  the  king  his  master  replaced  him  in  Ireland  by  two  joint 
governors  named  Lords  Justices  (strange  perversion  of  terms !). 
Of  all  the  Popery-hating,  plunder-loving  rulers  ever  sent  by  the 
'paternal  government  of  England  to  soothe  the  woes  and  suffer- 
ings of  Catholic  Ireland,  these  two  men,  Sir  William  Parsons  and 
Sir  John  Borlase,  stand  out  in  the  light  of  history  as  amongst  the 
most  odious  robbers  and  persecutors.  Even  the  bold,  blustering, 
barefaced  villany  of  the  royalist  Strafford  was  better  than  the 
smooth,  hypocritical,  all-grasping,  and  no  less  ferocious  dealings 
of  these  truculent  agents  of  the  Covenanting  rebels,  styled  by 


8 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


themselves  and  others  the  Parliament  of  England.  It  was  a 
dismal  day  for  poor  bleeding,  prostrate  Ireland,  when  this  pair  of 
associates  were  sworn  in  as  Lords  Justices,  the  actual  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant, the  Earl  of  Leicester,  being  then  and  long  after  resident 
in  England. 

Amongst  other  atrocities  of  those  penal  days  in  Ireland  was 
the  famous  Court  of  Wards,  established  some  years  before  with 
the  avowed  object  of  protecting  all  heirs  and  heiresses,  but  in 
reality  for  the  double  purpose  of  depriving  them  not  only  of  their 
patrimony,  but  of  what  was  far  more  important,  their  faith,  for, 
be  it  known  to  the  reader,  that  Catholic  wards  were  the  special 
care  of  this  precious  Court.  That  such  was  the  case  Ireland 
knew  to  her  cost,  for  the  working  of  this  institution  was  more 
fatal  to  her  cherished  faith  than  all  the  open  persecution  of  the 
times.  Many  of  the  descendants  of  her  noblest  and  most  ancient 
families  were  in  this  way  snatched  from  the  fold  of  truth,  and 
brought  up  in  rancorous  hatred  of  that  religion  for  which  their 
fathers  suffered  and  died.  Of  this  number  was  the  famous  James 
Butler,  Earl  of  Ormond,  the  representative  of  one  of  the  oldest 
•Anglo-Irish  houses  of  the  Pale,  who,  being  an  orphan  from  his 
childhood,  was  of  course  laid  hold  of  by  the  Court  of  Wards, 
taken  at  nine  years  old  from  a Catholic  school  near  London,  trans- 
ferred to  the  care  of  the  Protestant  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  “ trained  up  in  the  way”  the  English  government  “ would 
have  him  go,”  till  he  became  the  able  and  unscrupulous  minister 
of  the  crown,  and  one  of  the  most  dangerous — because  insidious 
— enemies  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  ever  had.  But  worse  than 
Ormond — worse  than  the  fiercest  blood-hounds  of  the  Parliament, 
was  another  of  these  royal  wards,  viz.,  Murrough  O’Brien,  Earl 
of  Inchiquin,  a man  who  outdid  all  his  colleagues — the  fanatical 
persecutors  of  the  Catholics — with  the  single  exception  of  the 
monster  Sir  Charles  Coote — in  implacable  enmity  towards  the 
religion  of  his  fathers.  Even  Coote  himself  did  not  exceed  this 
degenerate  descendant  of  the  great  O’Briens  in  savage  cruelty 
towards  the  unhappy  professors  of  the  proscribed  faith,  when 
they  fell  into  his  hands. 

Truly  was  Catholic  Ireland  then  passing  through  the  sea  of 
affliction,  enveloped  in  the  darkest  gloom  of  the  penal  days. 


THE  CONEEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


9 


Her  religion  proscribed  by  law,  its  professors  styled  recusants , 
exposed  with  the  poor  remains  of  their  possessions  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  such  men  as  we  have  been  describing,  at  the  head  of 
infuriate  bands  of  English  soldiery. 

Prostrate  and  helpless  the  whole  country  seemed  to  lie  before 

them,  terrified  into  passive  obedience,  with  no  sign  or  symptom  oi 
life  'save  the  convulsive  thrill  of  agony  which  ever  and  anon 
passed  through  the  tortured  frame  when  some  honored  head  was 
smitten  by  the  oppressor’s  sword,  or  some  fresh  outrage  was  per- 
petrated on  the  general  body.  But  was  this  apathy  real  or  only 
apparent  1 — was  there  not,  in  all  the  land,  one  patriot  soul  to  con- 
ceive a thought  of  freedom  1 — where  were  the  sons  of  those  mar- 
tyred chiefs  who  had  lost  fortune,  and  lands,  and  life  itself  for  con- 
science’ sake  1 — where  the  O’Neills  and  O’Donnells,  were  there  none 
to  inherit  their  wrongs  'l — where  the  O’Moores  of  Leix  who  in  pre- 
ceding reigns  had  lost  every  foot  of  their  princely  possessions,  and 
were  driven  forth  as  wanderers  on  the  earth  1 — where  the 
O’Byrnes  of  Wicklow  whose  noble  spirit  of  independence,  and  un- 
disguised hatred  of  the  foreign  foe,*  had  drawn  down  on  them  the 
fiercest  vengeance  of  tyrannic  rulers  for  ages  past,  so  that  they 
were  made  to  endure  every  evil  that  malice  could  invent  or  power 
execute  1 — were  they  all  dead,  or  slept  they  in  their  chains,  that  no 
murmer  of  complaint  was  heard,  nor  threat  of  vengeance  1 Ah 
the  time  for  complaints  had  passed  away — they  were  tried  all  too 
long,  and  had  been  found  only  to  excite  ridicule  and  contempt. 
Threats  and  menaces  would  have  seemed  nothing  short  of  mad- 
ness, for  all  power  was  in  the  hands  of  the  pitiless  enemy,  and  no 
hope  of  redress  or  liberation  could  quicken  the  pulse  or  warm  the 
heart  of  a nation  in  which  life  was  almost  extinct.  No  sound, 

then,  was  heard  from  the  despised  masses  of  “ the  mere  Irish”  to 
indicate  either  hope  or  fear — a sullen  silence  reigned  in  all  the 
Catholic  provinces — the  native  tribes  and  the  descendants  of  the 
Norman  settlers  were  alike  sunk  in  stolid  hopelessness,  to  judge 
from  what  was  visible  on  the  surface.  What  was  passing  in  the 

* The  daring  exploits  of  the  famous  Wicklow  Chief  Feagh  McHugh 
0’ Byrne  “ and  his  hard-riding  men”  only  a generation  or  so  before, 
are  already  celebrated  in  song  and  story — if  not  in  history. 

1* 


10 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


secret  depths,  amongst  those  slumbering  masses,  it  is  for  us  now 
to  show. 

Somewhere  about  the  middle  of  September,  in  the  memorable 
year  of  1641,  a party  of  gentlemen  were  assembled  around  a fes- 
tive board  in  the  back  parlor  of  a house  in  Bridge  street,  Dublin. 
The  room  was  comfortably  but  plainly  furnished,  and  the  black 
oak  table  with  its  pewter  plates  and  dishes  and  earthen  drinking- 
cups  denoted  but  moderate  means  on  the  part  of  the  entertainer, 
yet  there  was  that  about  him  which  savored  of  a different  order  of 
life,  and  though  all  his  guests — they  were  four  or  five  in  number 
— were  not,  in  manner  at  least,  of  the  same  high  polish  as  him- 
self, they  were  all  evidently  of  a class  entitled,  if  not  accustomed, 
to  costlier  fare  and  more  humble  service  than  that  which  fell  to 
their  lot  on  the  present  occasion.  They  were  all  habited  alike  in 
the  gay  and  not  ungraceful  costume  of  the  native  Irish  chieftains, 
though  it  required  not  truis  or  cochal,  to  prove  that  such  they 
were.  Their  ages  were  different,  though  all  might  be  called 
young,  for  the  oldest  could  not  have  seen  forty,  while  the  junior 
of  the  party  was  still  in  the  summer  of  life.  As  they  quaff  their 
Spanish  wine  and  idly  while  away  in  cheerful  chit-chat  the  half- 
hour  after  the  viands  were  removed,  let  us  tell  the  reader  in  confi- 
dence who  they  were.  The  handsome  and  high-bred  host,  with 
his  long  and  silken  hair  so  smoothly  parted  on  his  high  white 
forehead  and  falling  on  either  side  in  the  most  exquisite  of  cooluns, 
is  no  other  than  Roger  O’Moore,  the  disinherited  heir  of  the  do- 
mains of  Leix,  although  none  might  trace  on  his  frank,  engaging 
countenance  even  the  faintest  shadow  of  the  stormy  passions 
which  wrongs  like  his  are  apt  to  foster  in  the  soul.  Near  him 
on  the  right  sat  a younger  man  of  prepossessing  appearance,  his 
manners  marked  by  that  careless  ease  which  indicates  the  con- 
sciousness of  rank,  together  with  a certain  assumption  of  super- 
iority which  might,  or  might  not,  give  offence  according  to  the 
dispositions  of  the  company.  This  was  Connor  Maguire,  Lord 
Enniskillen,  more  commonly  known  then,  as  since,  by  the  name 
of  Lord  Maguire.  Next  to  him  sat  a personage  of  more  mature 
years,  whose  face  and  form  were  cast  in  a rougher  mould,  while 
his  bushy  whiskers  and  thick  short  hair  of  sandy  hue  gave  an 
air  of  fierceness  to  the  contour  of  his  head  that  did  not  belong  to 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


11 


his  broad,  honest  face,  which  was  more  indicative  of  good-nature 
than  anything  else.  This  was  Tirlogh  O’Neill,  brother  of  the 
famous  Sir  Phelim,  and  as  true  a clansman  as  ever  trod  Tyrone 
heather.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  were  two  other  gen- 
tlemen, both  in  the  prime  of  life,  one  of  whom  it  was  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish as  O’Reilly  of  Cavan,  for  his  was  the  tall,  thin,  yet  sin- 
ewy frame,  the  fair  and  rather  delicate  features,  and  the  calm  dig- 
nity of  mien  which  ever  characterized  that  far-descended  line  of 
chieftains.  The  other  gentleman  was  a promising  scion  of  the 
noble  house  of  McMahon  of  Monaghan,  and  he,  too,  carried  about 
him  the  most  prominent  nfcirks  of  his  race-— their  frank  sincerity, 
their  earnestness  of  purpose,  and  a shrewdness  which  eminently 
fitted  them  for  elbowing  their  way  through  life. 

The  distinctive  peculiarities  of  each  were  more  or  less  subdued 
on  the  present  occasion,  and  the  wine  appeared  to  circulate  more 
slowly  than  might  be  expected,  notwithstanding  the  frequent 
challenges  of  the  host. 

“ Why,  gentlemen,”  said  O’Moore  at  length  with  sudden  viva- 
city, “ I marvel  much  at  your  disregard  of  wine  which  I have 
taken  some  pains  to  provide  of  such  quality  as  I thought  likely 
to  make  you  merry  at  heart.  How  is  it  ? — are  ye  thinking  to 
conform  to  Puritan  ways  of  godliness  *?” 

“ Nay,  my  very  good  friend,”  made  answer  Lord  Maguire,  “ if 
it  be  with  others  of  your  guests  as  it  is  with  me,  their  thoughts 
are  too  big  for  much  speech.” 

0’Moore’s_  assumed  vivacity  suddenly  vanished,  but  a glow  of 
satisfaction  overspread  his  features.  “ You  have  been  thinking, 
then,  friends  and  noble  gentlemen,  of  the  matter  concerning 
which  I spoke  to  you  severally  as  occasion  offered  heretofore. 
I trust  I see  you  all  in  the  same  mind,  resolved  to  lend  what 
power  in  you  lies  to  the  relief  and  comfort  of  our  suffering 
country.” 

The  guests  exchanged  glances,  and  a certain  embarrassment 
was  visible  amongst  them.  Maguire  was  the  first  to  break 
silence.  He  assured  O’Moore  that  no  one  felt  more  keenly  than 
himself  the  galling  yoke  of  the  oppressor,  “ but,”  said  he,  “it 
would  be  worse  than  useless  for  us  to  make  any  show  of  resist- 
ance at  the  present  time,  seeing  that  we  have  neither  arms, 


12  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  • 

I 

ammunition,  money,  nor  anything  whatsoever  to  fit  an  army  for 
the  field.” 

“ It  is  even  so,”  said  McMahon  bitterly ; “ between  confisca- 
tions, fines  and  subsidies,  and  what  not,  they  have  left  us  bare  as 
whipping-posts.  We  have  nothing  to  start  us  in  the  trade  of  war 
— all  is  in  their  hands  !” 

“ Nothing !”  cried  O’Neill  with  ill-concealed  impatience;  “ call 
you  nothing,  Costelloe  McMahon,  the  strong  arms  and  stout 
hearts  who  follow  the  standards  of  our  chiefs  1 Why,  man,  we 
could  raise  an  army  in  a month — ay ! and  shorter  time — fit  to 
sweep  the  cut-throat  Englishers  into  tlfe  sea !” 

“ Spoken  like  a true  son  of  the  Hy-Nial !”  said  O’Moore,  reaching 
across  Lord  Maguire  to  grasp  the  rough  hand  wherewith  Tirlogh 
had  made  the  table  quiver  to  the  tune  of  his  fiery  speech. 

“ All  well  so  far  as  it  goes,”  observed  Maguire  drily,  his  dignity 
being  somewhat  hurt  by  his  host’s  momentary  forgetfulness  of 
the  respect  due  to  his  person ; “ men  we  have  in  great  plenty,  but 
who  will  put  arms  in  their  hands,  and  clothes  on  their  backs, 
and  find  them  wherewithal  to  live  while  they  fight  the  country’s 
battles  1 Would  ye  send  them  into  the  field  as  droves  of  sheep 
without  means  of  offence  or  defence,  to  be  butchered  at  will  by 
the  fanatic  soldiers  of  the  English  Parliament  V* 

“ No  need  of  that,”  replied  O’Neill  with  increasing  warmth ; 
“ there  be  iron  and  wood  enough,  for  small  purchase,  to  make 
most  excellent  pikes,  which  will  serve,  I opine,  till  better 
weapons  come  within  reach,  and  I tell  you,  Connor  Maguire,”  he 
added  significantly,  “ the  smiths  of  Tyrone  have  not  been  idle 
this  time  back,  and  moreover  I can  answer  for  one  chieftain  at 
least ” 

“ Ay ! and  who  may  that  be  V’ 

“ Phelim  O’Neill  !”  said  the  haughty  clansman  with  stern 
emphasis,  and  a contemptuous  glance  at  his  neighbor ; “ he  at 
least  is  ready  when  his  country  calls  him  to  the  rescue — he  will 
offer  no  excuses — I tell  you  that,  Roger  O’Moore! — you  may 
reckon  on  my  brother  whensoever  and  howsoever  you  need  his 
aid  in  this  matter.” 

Had  Maguire  been  as  hot-blooded  as  O’Neill  it  might  have 
given  their  host  some  trouble  to  prevent  a quarrel,  but  happily 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


13 


the  chieftain  of  Fermanagh  was  not  of  such  choleric  tempera- 
ment, and  with  a somewhat  higher  degree  of  polish  had  a certain 
amount  of  caution  which  enabled  him  to  control  his  feelings  when 
he  deemed  it  expedient. 

The  other  guests  were  visibly  alarmed  for  the  effect  of  O’Neill’s 
taunt,  and  O’Moore  was  about  to  interpose  with  his  most  winning 
smile,  but  Maguire  set  them  all  at  rest  by  saying  in  a good  hu- 
mored way : 

“ I call  ye  all  to  witness  that  Tirlogh  here  took  me  up  over 
quickly.  If  I did  express  some  doubts  concerning  our  present 
state  of  readiness,  I had  no  thoughts  of  dallying  behind  when 
others  were  of  a mind  to  go  forward.  Right  glad  am  I to  hear 
that  my  good  friend  of  Tyr-owen  is  pushing  matters  on.  Heaven 
knows  there  be  no  time  for  delay — but  for  me  I do  hope  to  see 
some  other  thing  besides  pikes  in  the  hands  of  our  men  when 
they  come  to  blows  with  an  enemy  so  well  armed  and  otherwise 
fitted  out  for  war.” 

“ You  are  in  the  right,  my  good  lord,”  said  O’Moore,  glancing 
with  evident  relief  at  the  restored  good  humor  visible  on  Tir- 
logh’s  broad  face ; “ much  caution  is  needful  in  a matter  of  so 
great  import,  but  the  provision  of  all  things  requisite  for  the 
maintenance  of  warfare  has  been  well  considered  before  now. 
There  be  those  of  our  friends  beyond  seas  in  divers  countries,  as 
ye  all  know,  who  have  much  skill  in  these  matters,  and  they 
wait  but  the  signal  to  be  with  us  with  good  store  of  all  things 
needful  which,  through  God’s  mercy  and  the  royal  charity  of 
Catholic  princes,  they  have  in  speedy  expectation.” 

“ Lamh  dearg  aboo  /”  shouted  he  of  Tyr-owen,  jumping  to  his 
feet  with  a suddenness  that  made  the  others  start,  “I  knew  it, 
Rory ! — I knew  they  wouldn’t  fail  us !” 

“ It  is  even  so,  Tirlogh,”  replied  his  host  smiling  at  the  other’s 
capricole,  “ the  Red  Hand  is  working  for  us  even  now — not  only 
amongst  the  hills  of  Tyr-owen,  but  in  the  courts  of  Europe  and 
in  the  councils  of  kings.” 

“ Tyrone*  will  be  a host  in  himself,”  observed  O’Rielly,  who  had 

* The  Tyrone  here  alluded,  to  was  the  son  of  the  great  Hugh  O’Neill. 
He  was  the  friend  and  counsellor  of  Roger  0’ Moore  in  his  bold 


14 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


not  as  yet  taken  part  in  the  conversation;  “ his  father’s  great 
deeds  are  in  all  men’s  minds,  and  his  name  will  he  enough  of 
itself  to  stir  up  the  northern  clans.” 

“ Owen  Roe  is  worth  a dozen  of  him !”  said  the  rough-spoken 
Tirlogh ; “ fighting  is  no  novelty  to  Owen — he’s  well  used  to  it, 
and  can  teach  us  all  we  want  to  know  ! — Lamh  dearg  aboo ! — 
there’s  not  a man  of  the  O’Neills  but  will  follow  Owen  Roe  !” 

“ You  forget  Sir  Phelim,  Tirlogh !”  said  Costelloe  McMahon 
with  a meaning  smile ; “ he  has  been  so  long  now  the  first  man  in 
Tyr-owen  that  I fear  me  much  he  will  not  take  bidding  even  from 
the  hero  of  Arras  or  the  belted  Earl  himself!” 

“ Oh  ! that's  another  story,”  said  O’Neill  somewhat  more  coolly ; 
“ there’s  no  need  for  him  to  take  bidding — they  can  pull  together 
— and  they  will  too,  please  God  on  high  !” 

“ Never  was  more  need,”  said  O’Moore,  fixing  his  thoughtful 
eye  on  each  of  his  guests  in  turn,  “ there  be  news  now  to  set  us 
on  if  we  ever  mean  to  do  anything  !” 

Maguire’s  anxious  interrogatory  was  seconded  by  the  startled 
look  of  the  others.  “ What  worse  news  can  there  be  than  those 
which  daily  come  to  our  ears  1 Thank  Heaven ! matters  cannot 
be  worse  with  us  than  they  are !” 

“ Thejr  can  be  worse,  my  lord,  and  they  will , if  we  do  not 
something  before  long.  Have  ye  heard  of  this  letter  lately 
intercepted  V' 

“ What  letter  1” 

“ Why,  one  from  Scotland  to  a planter  in  the  north,  one  Free- 
man by  name,  apprising  him  that  the  Scotch  covenanting  army 
is  coming  over  anon  in  full  strength  to  massacre  every  Papist  in 
this  unhappy  country.” 

“It  is  true,  then,  what  Parsons  said  at  the  banquet,”*  said 
Maguire  with  a quivering  lip,  “ not  content  with  taking  all  our 
substance,  they  must  needs  take  our  lives,  too.  Truly  they  treat 
us  as  wolves ” 

attempt  to  free  the  country.  Their  connection  war,  formed 'abroad, 
O’Neill  being  in  exile. 

* A little  before  this  Sir  Wm.  Parsons  had  declared  at  a put  lie  en- 
tertainment that  the  Irish  Papists  should  and  would  be  exterminated. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


15 


“ Yet  we  submit  as  lambs  to  their  bloody  oppression,”  said 
O’Moore  eagerly;  “let  us  but  turn  on  them  with  the  strength 
that  God  gave  us,  and  you  shall  see  them  wither  as  grass  before 
our  righteous  anger ! — make  but  a gallant  show — rise  in  union 
and  in  strength — stand  before  them  as  men  resolved — and  they 
will  not  dare  to  smite  ye ! The  first  news  of  our  rising  will  bring 
over  supplies  of  all  we  want  from  the  friendly  courts  of  Europe 
— our  exiled  countrymen  will  rush  to  aid  us  with  the  skill  they 
have  gained  in  foreign  wars,  and  before  many  months  go  by,  if 
we  but  keep  together  as  we  ought,  we  may  hunt  from  our  shores 
the  ferocious  beasts  who  fatten  on  our  spoils  and  on  our  blood, 
stand  as  free  men  on  the  soil  that  is  ours  by  right,  and  worship 
God  after  the  manner  of  our  fathers  in  the  way  we  deem  safe  for 
our  soul’s  weal ! — what  say  ye,  friends  and  gentlemen  ? Chief- 
tains of  the  north ! shall  we  still  lie  motionless  under  the  enemy’s 
armed  heel,  and  suffer  him  to  sweep  our  race  from  the  face  of 
God’s  earth  without  striking  even  one  blow  for  freedom  or  re- 
venge ? "Which  one  of  us  is  there  whose  father  they  have  not 
robbed — ay,  and  murdered  /” — his  deep,  impassioned  voice  sank 
to  a thrilling  whisper  as  he  spoke  the  hideous  word,  and  whether 
by  accident  or  design  he  turned  his  eloquent  eyes  full  on  McMa- 
hon, whose  immediate  ancestor,  McMahon  of  Dartrey,  had  ac- 
tually been  hung  in  front  of  his  own  door*  in  the  stormy  days, 
yet  fresh  in  all  men’s  minds,  when  Hugh  O’Neill  was  waging  his 
heroic  but  unequal  war  against  the  giant  power  of  Elizabeth. 

McMahon  rose,  and  with  flushed  cheek  and  flashing  eye  gave  his 
hand  to  O’Moore  : “ Such  aid  as  I can  give,  Rory,  you  shall  have — • 
the  cause  is  just,  and  the  God  of  justice  will  bless  our  arms — we  were 
no  men,  either  you  or  I,  could  we  forget  Dartrey  or  Mullaghmast.f 

* Could  Philip  O’Reilly  have  looked  into  the  future  but  a few  years, 
he  would  have  seen  a venerable  chieftain  of  his  own  race  hanging 
from  a tree,  within  sight  of  his  own  castle  windows,  during  the  bloody 
Cromwellian  period.  These  horrible  tragedies  are,  and  will  ever  be, 
traditional  in  Ulster. 

t Every  reader  of  Irish  history  is  familiar  with  the  story  of  the 
treacherous  murder  of  the  O’Moores  at  the  Rath  of  Mullaghmast.  It 
is  one  of  the  blackest  pages  in  the  annals  of  British  rule  in  Ireland. 


16 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


When  the  banner  of  our  country  is  again  unfurled,  the  men  of 
Uriel  will  be  found  in  the  right  place  and  at  the  fitting  time. 
O’Reilly,  what  say  you  V ’ 

“ I say  this,  Costelloe  McMahon,  that  there  beats  not  in  Irish 
bosoms  hearts  more  true  than  those  of  Breffny-O’Reilly.  Let  the 
clans  of  Ulster  once  raise  the  war-shout  and  the  Red  Hand 
point  the  way,  the  O’Reillys  will  not  be  hindmost,  take  my 
word !” 

“ Uriel  and  Breffny  forever !”  shouted  Tirlogh  O’Neill ; “ I told 
you  the  truth  was  in  them,  Rory  O’Moore  ! — now  for  Fermanagh !” 
and  he  turned  his  fierce  eyes  on  Maguire,  who  appeared  to  take 
the  matter  rather  coolly  for  his  liking. 

“ Fermanagh  is  not  an  ass,  to  be  driven  at  will,”  said  Maguire 
haughtily  and  coldly.  “ If  Roger  O’Moore,  or  any  other  man, 
can  show  me  any  fair  prospect  of  success,  I am  ready  to  join  a 
cause  which  I know  is  just  and  righteous,  but  as  yet,  I have 
heard  or  seen  nothing  to  change  my  opinion,  namely,  that  as 
things  stand  now  with  us  of  the  old  faith  it  would  be  madness 
to  make  a show  of  fight.  Idle  boasting  will  do  nothing,  Roger 
O’Moore !” 

O’Neill’s  hand  was  on  his  skene  in  an  instant,  and  the  other 
gentlemen,  although  habitually  more  self-possessed,  could  not 
conceal  their  surprise.  O’Moore  laid  his  hand  on  O’Neill’s  arm, 
and  admonished  him  by  a gentle  pressure  to  listen  patiently. 

“ Nay,  Tirlogh,”  said  Maguire  with  a calm  smile,  “ if  others’ 
feathers  were  but  as  easily  ruffied  as  yours,  you  should  have  hot 
work  of  it,  let  me  tell  you ! By  what  I said,  I meant  no  offence 
to  any  gentleman  of  this  good  company.  What  I want,  Rory 
O’Moore,  is  this  : Before  we  take  any  rash  step  in  a matter  which 
concerns  all  men  of  Irish  blood,  or  professing  the  Catholic  faith, 
let  us  see  what  the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  that  religion  in  other 
parts  of  the  country  have  a mind  to  do.  The  chain  is  as  heavy  on 
them  as  it  is  on  us — they  have  as  many  wrongs  as  we  to  rouse 
their  ire — of  a surety,  then,  they  will  lend  a hand — let  us  do 
nothing  till  we  acquaint  them  and  make  an  agreement  with  them 
as  to  what  share  of  the  work  they  will  take  !” 

“ Your  lordship  must  surely  forget,”  said  O’Moore,  his  hand 
still  resting  lightly  on  the  arm  of  his  refractory  neighbor,  “ what 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


17  . 

I told  you  a few  days  since  when  I saw  you  at  your  lodgings,  to 
wit,  that  I have  journeyed  much  of  late  through  several  parts  of 
the  Irish  country,  and  have  talked  the  matter  over  with  many  of 
the  first  men  as  to  name  and  standing — they  are  all  well  affected 
towards  this  thing,  as  far  as  I could  see,  and,  with  God’s  blessing, 
are  determined  to  join  us.  There  is  not  a man  of  the  ancient 
race,  I do  think,  in  Ulster,  Connaught,  or  Munster  that  will  not 
rise  at  the  first  news  of  an  attack  on  the  government  forces.  Nay 
more,  my  good  Lord,  there  he  those  of  English  blood — ay ! within 
the  borders  of  the  Pale  itself,  who  are  only  waiting  for  us  to 
strike  a blow  in  defence  of  religion,  when  they  will  join  us  heart 
and  soul !” 

“Well,  there  is  some  encouragement  in  that,”  said  Maguire, 

“ especially  as  regards  the  Connaught  and  Munster  tribes — as  for 
the  Palesmen,  it  will  go  hard  with  them  when  they  strike  a blow 
on  the  same  side  with  us  Irishry,  as  they  choose  to  style  us. 
However,  Roger,  I will  not  be  the  man  to  stand  by  and  see 
others  fighting  my  battle — it  would  ill  become  one  of  my  name — 
so,  in  due  time — nay,  nay,  no  fierce  looks,  Tirlogh  O’Neill ! — I 
say  in  due  time — that  is,  when  fitting  preparation  be  made  here 
at  home  and  our  countrymen  abroad  are  in  the  way  of  joining 
us  with  their  well-tried  swords — then,  I and  mine  will  not  be 
found  wanting !”  He  had  spoken  all  along  with  a sort  of 
nervous  trepidation,  that  was  but  too  visible,  but  as  he  reached 
the  close,  his  voice  gathered  strength  and  firmness,  and  he  spoke 
the  last  words  in  a tone  as  firm  as  even  O’Moore  himself  could 
wish,  though  he  relished  not  the  qualified  consent  which  ought 
to  have  come,  he  thought,  without  reserve  or  exception. 

But  O’Neill  in  his  thoughtless,  headlong  generosity  felt  none 
of  this,  and  he  was  the  first  to  grasp  the  young  nobleman’s  hand, 
which  the  others  all  did  in  their  turn. 

“ Nobly  said,  Connor  Maguire,”  said  the  warm-hearted  son 
of  the  O’Neills,  and  his  voice  quivered  with  emotion ; “I  shamed 
to  see  the  Chieftain  of  Fermanagh  throwing  cold  water  on  so 
good  a cause.  Now  you  speak  dike  a Maguire ! — Let’s  have  a 
bumper,  most  sage  Rory,  to  drink  Maguire’s  health !” 

“ And  success  to  the  cause  in  which  we  are  all  embarked !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


• 18 

the  host  added,  as  the  brimming  tankards  gleamed  aloft  in 
every  hand. 

There  was  a momentary  pause,  during  which  one  looked  at 
the  other,  and  all,  as  if  by  a common  impulse,  turned  their  eyes 
on  Maguire.  That  chieftain  saw  the  doubt,  and  a smile  of  cheer- 
ing import  lit  his  manly  features.  He  was  the  first  to  raise  the 
goblet  to  his  lips,  and  he  drained  it  to  the  patriotic  toast,  as  given. 
The  others  followed  his  example,  and  O'Moore  felt  that  some- 
thing had  been  done — the  representatives  of  four  powerful 
houses  stood  pledged  to  the  common  weal  when  they  parted 
that  evening. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

“ In  vain  did  oppression  endeavor 
* To trample  that  green  under  foot ; 

The  fair  stem  was  broken,  but  never 
Could  tyranny  reach  to  its  root. 

Then  come,  and  around  it  let’s  rally, 

And  guard  it  henceforward  like  men ; 

Oh  ! soon  shall  each  mountain  and  valley 
Grow  bright  with  its  verdure  again. 

Meanwhile,  fill  each  glass  to  the  brim,  boys, 

With  water,  with  wine,  or  potheen, 

And  on  each  let  the  honest  wish  swim,  boys, 

Long  flourish  the  Gael  and  the  Green  !” 

M.  J.  Barry. 

Eight  or  ten  days  after  the  dinner  party  at  O’Moore’s  lodgings 
two  gentlemen  stood  together  at  a window  in  an  old  weather- 
beaten castle  amongst  the  heath-clad  hills  of  Tyrone.  The  scene 
without  was  wild  and  rugged,  hare,  bleak  hills  of  every  variety  of 
shape  stretching  far  and  away,  with  brown  moors  and  patches  of 
stubble-fields  here  and  there  between.  Few  traces  of  human  ha- 
bitation were  at  first  sight  visible,  but  a closer  examination 
showed  the  district  thickly  inhabited.  The  hill-sides  and  the 
valleys,  the  moors  and  the  meadow-lands  were  all  dotted  with 
cabins  and  cottages,  whose  time-darkened  clay  walls  were  brown 
as  the  withered  herbage  or  the  arid  soil  around  them.  Even 
while  the  eye  endeavored  to  distinguish  these  hut-like  dwellings 
from  amid  the  drear  monotony  of  the  scene,  smoke  began  to  as- 
cend in  many  a spiral  column  from  every  imaginable  point,  giving 
life  and  animation,  if  not  grace  or  beauty,  to  the  scene.  But  it 
was  not  the  brown  autumnal  hills,  or  the  smoke  from  cottage- 
fire  giving  note  of  the  evening  meal,  that  arrested  the  wandering 


20 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


gaze  or  occupied  the  minds  of  the  two  individuals  who  stood  in 
earnest  conversation  at  a window  of  the  great  hall  in  yon  gray 
old  keep,  whose  solitary  tower,  surrounded  by  high,  strong  walls 
of  rough  stone,  looms  dark  and  menacing  over  ihe  adjacent  moor- 
lands. Both  were  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  their  sinewy  propor- 
tions showed  to  full  advantage  in  the  close-fitting  truis,  and  what 
we  would  call  jacket,  of  the  Irish  chiefs  of  that  and  former  ages, 
as  they  stood  in  the  flickering,  glaring  light  of  a bog-wood  fire 
blazing  and  crackling  behind  them  in  the  wide,  open  chimney  of 
the  hall.  The  short  cloak  or  cochal  which  invariably  completed 
the  costume,  hung  more  gracefully  from  the  shoulders  of  one, 
while  the  broad  chest  and  stalwart  form  of  the  other  would  have 
furnished  a model  for  one  of  the  Athletes  of  old.  His  voice,  when 
he  spoke,  too,  was  rough  and  strong,  with  something  imperious 
in  its  tone ; while  that  of  his  companion  was  soft  and  well-modu- 
lated, as  one  who  had  lived  long  in  cities,  it  might  be  in  courts. 
They  talked  in  characteristic  fashion  of  the  great  scheme  then 
in  agitation  for  the  country’s  weal,  and  he  of  the  courtly  mien 
was  urging  on  his  not  very  patient  auditor  certain  reasons  which 
he  himself  deemed  conclusive  for  a speedy  and  general  demon- 
stration of  strength.  Surely  we  have  heard  those  mellifluous 
accents  before,  and  as  surely  it  is  Roger  O’Moore  that  speaks. 
His  companion  is  a stranger  to  us,  but  we  all  at  once  remember 
having  lately  seen  a face  like  his  and  a burly  form  of  just  such 
muscular  proportions.  Putting  one  thing  with  another,  the  Ty- 
rone fortress,  the  authoritative  tone  of  this  stalwart  chieftain,  and 
the  eagerness  wherewith  the  astute  Leinsterman  labors  to  con- 
vince him,  we  venture  on  a shrewd  surmise,  eventually  found 
correct.  With  a start  we  recognize  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  at  that 
period  the  chief  man  of  his  race  in  Ulster,  and  the  old  gray  for- 
talice  under  whose  smoky  rafters  he  appears  before  us  is,  then,  no 
other  than  Kinnard  Castle,  made  memorable  to  all  aftertimes  by 
the  valorous  exploits  of  its  martial  lord. 

O’ Moore  had  been  watching  through  the  misty  light  from 
without,  the  lowering  brow  of  the  northern  chieftain  and  the 
fiery  glances  which  shot  at  intervals  from  his  half-closed  eyes. 

“ I say  they  count  on  our  forbearance,  Sir  Phelim — or  mayhap 
they  name  it  cowardliness.  Those  men  of  blood  and  rapine  have 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


21 


doubtless  made  up  their  minds  that  our  lives  and  what  holdings 
we  still  have  are  theirs  when  they  list  to  seize  them,  and  that  the 
spirit  of  our  fathers  is  squeezed  out  of  us  by  the  load  of  misery 
they  have  put  upon  us — they  have  done  what  men  could  to  cool 
our  blood  by  keeping  us  on  low  living,  and  divers  other  ex- 
pedients  ” 

Sir  Phelim  interrupted  him  with  a grim  smile.  “They  may  find 
it  too  hot  for  their  liking,  an’  they  wait  a little.  But  name  thenfcriot, 
Rory — I confess  to  a want  of  patience,  at  all  times,  but  the  black 
villany  of  these  canting  knaves  is  something  I cannot  even  think 
of  without  feeling  for  my  skene.  By  our  hopes  of  happiness  here- 
after, Rory  O’ Moore,  I would  barter  my  chance  of  that  earldom 
of  Tyrone  of  which  you  spoke  but  now,  ay ! and  the  broad  lands 
that  called  the  great  Hugh  master,  could  I but  see  the  green 
flag  waving  from  Dublin  Castle,  and  Parsons  and  Borlase  swing- 
ing from  the  battlements  ! Before  God,  I would  this  very  night !” 

“ I doubt  it  not,  my  friend,”  said  O’Moore,  with  undisguised 
satisfaction,  “ but,  now  that  you  mention  that’  accursed  Castle, 
I must  tell  you  a thing  which  has  come  into  my  mind  concerning 
it.  Come  a. little  farther  this  way — I see  your  people  are  making 
ready  for  the  evening  repast.” 

“ Pooh,  man,  heed  them  not — the  Sassenach  tongue  is  a dead 
one  to  them — so  should  it  be  to  us  all — and  as  for  treachery — did 
they  catch  the  meaning  of  our  words — there  be  no  such  poisonous 
weed  amongst  our  heather.  Still,  an’  it  please  you  better,  let  us 
move  somewhat  farther  from  the  gillies’*  lugs.” 

O’Moore  then  unfolded  to  his  astonished  host,  in  as  few  words 
as  might  be,  a plan  which  had  been  projected  by  himself  and 
others  yet  to  be  named  for  the  seizure  of  Dublin  Castle  with  its 
stores  of  arms  and  ammunition,  as  the  first  grand  move  in  their 
military  tactics.  He  was  proceeding  to  enlarge  in  his  clear  and 
lucid  style  on  the  incalculable  advantages  likely  to  follow  this 
bold  stroke,  if  successfully  carried  out,  but  O’Neill  broke  in  very 
curtly  with 

* Gillie  was  the  Celtic  word  equivalent  to  our  follower  or  attendant . 
Hence  the  prefix  Gill  or  Gilla  to  some  of  the  old  names,  such  as  Gil- 
pat  rick,  Gil-macuddy , <&c. 


22 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ What ! — take  the  Castle ! — without  men  or  reasonable  arms  ! 
—why,  before  Heaven,  man,  I think  your  wits  are  failing  you !” 

“ It  may  be  so,”  replied  O’Moore  with  a quiet  smile,  “ though 
before  I leave  you  I may  prove  myself  sane  enough.  But,  I pray 
you  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  reasonable  arms  ? — what  manner 
of  arms  be  they 

“Nay,  Roger  O’Moore,”  cried  the  fiery  northman,  “ this,  I take 
it,  is«o  laughing  matter ; you  know  well  that  by  reasonable  arms 
I mean  arms  of  sufficient  quality  and  in  sufficient  numbers, 
which,  if  so  be  you  had,  where  are  the  men  and  the  leaders  to 
carry  out  such  a measure  1 Sdeath,  man,  where  be  all  these  V’ 

“ If  you  will  but  hear  me,  Sir  Phelim,  I will  make  this  matter 
plain  to  your  comprehension.  You  have  heard,  doubtless,  of  cer- 
tain instructions  lately  sent  over  by  the  king’s  majesty  concerning 
forces  to  be  raised  here  for  the  Spanish  and  other  continental 
services ” 

“ Yea,  surely  I have  heard  the  thing  spoken  of,  but  what  is 
that  to  us,  or  rather  will  it  not  be  hurtful  to  us  in  this  matter  to 
have  our  best  men  sent  abroad,  if  it  so  happen  that  we  need 
them  here  at  home  1” 

“ Ay,  but  suppose,” — he  lowered  his  voice  almost  to  a whisper 
and  drew  still  nearer  his  companion — “ suppose,  Sir  Phelim,  these 
regiments — drilled  and  trained  by  royal  permission — might  lend 
us  their  good  swords  and  muskets — ay ! and  their  stout  arms  to 
boot — what  think  you  of  that,  son  of  the  Hy-Nial  V’ 

At  this  hint  Sir  Phelim’s  countenance  brightened  up,  and  he 
turned  eagerly  towards  O’Moore : “ What ! do  you  mean  to 

say ” 

“ I mean  to  say,  O’Neill,  that  the  colonels  of  several  of  those 
regiments — two  or  three  I can  answer  for — have  another  end  in 
view  besides  that  of  aiding  the  King  of  Spain ; think  you,  my 
good  friend,  that  our  cause  is  not  nearer  and  dearer  to  Colonel 
Hugh  O’ Byrne — for  to  such  command  is  he  named — than  any 
other  in  the  wide  world  1 ” 

“ He  were  no  man,  Rory,  an’  he  were  not  so  affected  towards 
us !”  and  honest  Phelim  rubbed  his  hands  right  gleefully. 

“Well!  there  be  others  of  the  officers  of  rank  in  that  service 
no  less  willing  to  join  us  than  Hugh  O’Byrne.  There  be  Plun- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


23 


kelts  and  Dillons  there,  too,  Sir  Phelim ! — men  with  Catholic 
hearts  though  of  English  blood !” 

“ I have  no  faith  in  them,”  said  the  blunt  Ulsterman,  with  a 
doubtful  shake  of  the  head. 

“Nay,  I tell  you,  Sir  Phelim!  there  are  good  men. and  honest 
men  among  them — ay!  and  some  who  have  suffered  long  and 
much  for  the  ancient  faith — they  are  branded  by  the  penal  laws 
as  well  as- we — why  should  they  not  join  us  in  rending  asunder 
a chain  which  binds  us  all  alike  1” 

“ Well,  well,  Rory,  I believe  you  know  best ; I will  take  your 
word  for  the  good  faith  of  these  Norman  churls ” 

“ How,  Sir  Phelim ! you  forget,  surely,  that  some  of  these  lords 
and  gentlemen  are  my  friends  and  kinsmen! — Norman  churls!  I 
like  not  the  phrase.”* 

“Ha!  ha!”  laughed  O’Neill,  “I  did  not  think  to  see  such  a 
frown  on  Rory  O’ Moore’s  smooth  forehead — an’  it  were  me,  now, 
none  might  wonder ; but  you,  Rory ! — for  shame,  man ! clear 
your  brow,  and  keep  your  temper,  I advise  you,  in  Kinnard 
Castle,  or  your  Norman  friends  and  kinsmen,  as  you  call  them 
may  fight  the  battle  on  their  own  account !” 

O’Moore,  by  this  time  sensible  of  his  error,  and  partly  ashamed 
of  a display  of  petulance  very  unusual  with  him,  applied  himself  to 
soothe  the  chafed  Ulsterman,  and  with  that  end  asked  him  if  his 
brother  had  mentioned  to  him  a certain  matter  appertaining  to 
the  dispositions  of  a powerful  nobleman  in  the  Western  .province. 

“ Something  of  the  kind  he  said  you  hinted  to  him  and  the 
other  gentlemen  at  your  lodgings,  but  darkly  and  in  a way  they 
could  make  nothing  of ” 

“ I told  them  further,”  said  O’Moore,  “ that  I was  kept  from 
naming  that  lord  by  a promise  of  secrecy  which  he  needs  would 
have  of  me ; still,  as  you  now  seem  to  doubt  the  good  dispositions  of 
the  Catholics  of  English  blood,  and  as  it  behoves  us  to  put  the  Red 
Hand  in  motion  at  any  cost — for  without  its  aid  our  cause  were 
hopeless — I will  tell  you,  on  condition  that  you  tell  no  man  with- 

* It  is  agreed  by  historians  of  all  parties  that  Roger  0’ Moore  was 
connected  both  by  kindred  and  affinity  with  many  of  the  first  houses 
of  the  English  Pale. 


24 


'HE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


out  my  consent — that  this  nobleman  is  no  other  than  the  Lord 
Mayo,  whose  power,  and  authority* and  good  credit  amongst  all 
men  you  know  as  well  as  I !”  This  speech  was  a master-stroke 
of  dexterity,  and  told  well  on  more  accounts  than  one. 

“ Did  Miles  Burke  give  you  his  word  that  he  will  join  us  in 
this  matter  V' 

O’Neill  fixed  his  fiery  eyes  on  the  Leinsterman  as  though  he 
would  read  him  through. 

“ So  help  me  Heaven  and  our  dear  Lady,  he  promised  in  all 
sincerity  to  do  his  utmost  in  our  behalf,  when  once  our  standard 
is  on  the  wind  !” 

Every  trace  of  displeasure,  not  to  say  suspicion,  vanished  at 
once  from  Sir  Phelim’s  open  countenance,  and  grasping  his  guest 
by  the  right  hand  he  gave  it  a hearty  squeeze  as  he  led  him  to 
the  dais  at  the  head  of  the  table  where  Lady  O’Neill,  with  one  or 
two  female  friends,  already  awaited  them.  “ Take  your  seat, 
man,  and  forgive  my  rough  speech!  Nora!”  to  his  wife,  “you 
know  Roger  O’Moore  before  now — the  greatest  man  of  his  name, 
I take  him  to  be  !” 

O’ Moore  smiled  and  bowed  with  the  graceful  suavity  peculiar 
to  himself.  Some  other  gentlemen  of  the  O'Neills  entered  and 
took  their  seats,  and  the  meal  began  with  a clatter  of  knives  and 
plates  and  dishes  which  boded  no  good  to  the  substantial  viands 
on  the  board. 

The  repast  was  not  yet  over  when  a bustle  in  the  court  with- 
out attracted  the  attention  of  those  within,  and  before  Sir  Phe- 
lim’s inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  the  tumult  had  time  to  be 
answered,  the  door  at  the  lower  extremity  of  the  hall  was  thrown 
open,  giving  admission  to  an  elderly  man  of  portly  mien,  who 
walked  up  the  hall  to  where  the  hostess  sat,  with  the  smiling  air 
of  a man  who  feels  himself  at  home,  every  one  present  rising  to 
greet  him  as  he  passed  with  some  word  of  joyous  welcome. 
O’Moore,  though  he  rose  with  the  others,  was  at  first  somewhat 
puzzled,  but  his  surprise  was  at  an  end  when  Sir  Phelim  pre- 
sented the  new-comer  as 

“Bishop  McMahon  of  Clogher!” 

“What!  Heber  McMahon!”  cried  O’Moore  joyfully. 

“ The  same,  good  sir,”  said  the  patriotic  prelate,  with  a good- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


25 


humored  smile,  as  his  quick  eye  ran  over  the  face  and  figure  of 
O’Moore. 

“ Then  I am  better  pleased  to  meet  you,  my  lord  of  Clogher, 
than  if  you  were  the  Pope  of  Rome,  to  whom  be  all  reverence ! 
The  name  of  Heber  McMahon  is  as  a trumpet-note  heralding 
victory !” 

“ I joy  to  hear  it,  Mr.  O’Moore, ” returned  the  Bishop,  “for 
in  sooth  my  heart  is  on  fire  at  the  present  hour  with  hopes  and 
wishes  for  speedy  action  on  behalf  of  our  oppressed  people,  and 
far  in  the  solitude  of  my  poor  dwelling  my  ears  have  been  glad- 
dened of  late  by  the  tales  of  Roger  O’Moore’s  heroic  efforts  to 
rouse  the  chief  men  of  the  nation  from  their  fatal  lethargy ! 
Heaven  bless  you,  my  son ! you  are  worthy  of  your  noble  race !” 
And  the  layman  and  the  bishop,  then  meeting  for  the  first  time, 
clasped  each  other’s  hand  with  the  fervor  of  old  friends  for  long 
years  parted. 

Lady  O’Neill,  being  in  poor  health  at  the  time,  so  far  from 
taking  any  interest  in  the  contemplated  movement,  shrank  with 
nervous  apprehension  from  the  possibility  of  a rising  which  her 
dread  of  the  English  made  her  regard  as  likely  to  draw  down 
swift  and  sure  destruction  on  all  concerned.  She  was  a pious 
and  devoted  Catholic,  and  felt,  in  common  with  all  others,  the 
crying  injustice  wherewith  those  of  the  ancient  faith  were  treated 
year  after  year  by  every  successive  ruler,  still  she  feared  that  any 
attempt  to  throw  off  the  cruel  shackles  which  bound  the  peo- 
ple would  only  increase  the  general  misery,  and,  sure  to  end  in 
defeat,  make  matters  worse  instead  of  better.  She  had  seen,  for 
months  before,  all  manner  of  secret  meetings  and  consultations 
going  on  within  the  precincts  of  her  dwelling,  and  well  knowing 
that  her  husband  had  more  ambition  than  prudence,  and  was 
naturally  fond  of  excitement,  she  feared  his  being  drawn  into  the 
assumption  of  a responsibility  which  would  be  sure  to  make  him 
a prominent  mark  for  that  judicial  vengeance  which  never  spared 
any  one.  In  the  beginning  she  had  remonstrated  warmly  with 
her  husband  against  the  making  a general  rendezvous  of  Kin- 
nard  Castle,  urging  him  if  those  meetings  were  to  be  held,  to  ar- 
range it  so  that  some  of  the  other  chiefs  and  nobles  of  the  pro- 
vince should  have  them  occasionally  at  their  several  houses  in 
2a 


26 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


order  to  avoid  fixing  suspicion  on  him.*  But  Sir  Phelim  was 
little  in  the  habit  of  taking  counsel  of  women,  so  he  only  laughed 
at  his  wife’s  fears,  and,  at  length,  cut  her  short  with  an  order  to 
mind  her  own  business,  nor  dare  for  the  future  to  meddle  in  his. 
The  lady  knowing  by  long  experience  that  further  interference 
on  her  part  would  do  no  manner  of  good,  contented  herself  ever 
after  with  showing  a cold  countenance  to  the  gentlemen  who  fre- 
quented the  Castle  on  this,  to  her,  obnoxious  business.  She  had 
no  difficulty  in  distinguishing  them,  for  they  were  all,  without  ex- 
ception, heads  of  the  old  Irish  families,  men  who  had  severally 
and  separately  long  accounts  of  insult,  and  outrage,  and  robbery 
to  settle  with  the  government.  In  her  heart  the  Lady  Nora  sym- 
pathized with  these  injured  chieftains,  for  she  herself  was  of  the 
old  blood,  but  still,  a‘s  I have  said,  she  abhorred  the  idea  of  open 
insurrection,  dreading  its  results,  and  so  it  was  that  her  cheek 
paled  and  her  rounded  form  wasted  day  by  day-  under  the  pres- 
sure of  fears  which  were  necessarily  pent  up  within  her  own 
bosom.  She  had  personally  a great  respect  for  Roger  O’Moore 
and  a still  greater  for  Ileber  McMahon’s  high  office,  yet  it  was 
not  without  alarm  that  she  saw  them  together  at  her  board,  for 
the  part  they  were  both  acting  in  the  way  of  stirring  up  the 
chiefs  was  well  known  to  her.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she 
could  show  even  ordinary  civility  to  her  husband’s  guests,  not- 
withstanding the  not  very  gentle  hints  from  time  to  time  thrown 
at  her  by  Sir  Phelim,  and  the  still  more  powerful  influence  of 
O’Moore’s  polished  manners.  On  the  plea  of  indisposition  she 
left  the  table  early  with  her  companions,  having  first  ascertained 
from  the  bishop  his  intention  of  saying  Mass  next  morning. 

“ But  where,  my  lordl — surely  not  here— not  in  the  castle 

“ Assuredly  no,  my  daughter, — if  you  are  afraid  of  running 
such  risk !” 

* That  this  advice  was  a wise  and  salutary  one,  we  see  from  the 
fact  that  in  the  famous  letter  of  Sir  Wm.  Cole,  governor  of  Enniskillen, 
to  the  Lords  Justices,  apprising  them  of  some  unusual  stir  amongst  the 
Ulster  chiefs,  he  founds  his  opinion  on  the  number  of  visitors  going 
and  coming,  as  he  heard,  all  summer,  to  and  from  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill’s 
house  at  Kinnard. 


BOSTON  GOLLE&®  UBK; 

■GHE3T1SIUT  HILL,  MASS 

THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  27 

“ In  the  Castle-chapel,  ray  lord !”  interrupted  Sir  Phelim,,  with  a 
wrathful  glance  at  his  wife,  of  whose  timidity  he  was  heartily 
ashamed.  “ With  God’s  help,  we  will  soon  have  Mass  when  and 
where  we  wish.” 

“ But  that  time  is  not  come,  Phelim !”  pleaded  Nora ; “ oh  ! be- 
think you  ere  it  be  too  late.  Think  of  the  danger  to  the  bishop — 
yourself — all  of  us  !” 

“ Woman!  hie  you  to  your  chamber  !”  cried  Sir  Phelim,  start- 
ing to  his  feet,  “ not  another  word,  now — begone  ! I say  ! — too 
long  have  we  worshipped  in  caves  and  huts  through  slavish  fear — 
from  this  day  out,  Mass  shall  be  duly  said  here  in  the  castle — that 
is,”  he  added  bitterly,  “ when  we  can  get  priests  to  minister  to  us 
— let  me  see  who  shall  intrude  on  our  sacred  rites  !” 

Although  Sir  Phelim  spoke  in  English,  the  substance  of  what 
he  said  seemed  well  understood  by  all  present,  for  as  Lady  O’Neill 
retired  sad  and  sorrowful,  she  heard  from  all  parts  of  the  spacious 
hall,  from  retainers  as  well  as  guests,  one  long  continued  burst  of 
applause. 

“ But  on  second  thoughts,”  said  Sir  Phelim,  turning  to  the 
bishop,  “ it  may  be  that  I go  too  far  in  this  matter  without  autho- 
rity. Will  you  have  any  fears,  my  lord  7” 

“ Fears  !”  cried  the  prelate  contemptuously,  “ fears  to  say  Mass 
in  Kinnard  Castle,  protected  by  the  chief  of  Tyr-Owen ! Were  I 
sure  of  death  I would  not  shrink, — it  were  worth  a hundred  lives 
such  as  mine  to  see  one  such  step  taken  in  advance, — and  by  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill ! I would  I were  within  sight  of  Parson’s  ill- 
favored  countenance  and  the  news  reach  him  at  the  council-board 
that  Mass  was  said  on  a certain  day  in  Kinnard  Castle  by  one 
Heber  McMahon,  a titular  popish  bishop  ! ha ! ha !”  The  bishop’s 
derisive  laugh  was  echoed  from  all  parts  of  the  hall,  and  then 
the  host  called  for  a general  bumper  to  the  discomfiture  of  all 
tyrants  and  oppressors. 

“ I pledge  you  in  Spanish  wine”  said  O’Moore  pointedly. 

“ Not  so,  Rory,  not  so,”  quickly  rejoined  his  host,  “ our  own  us- 
quebaugh and  no  other — foreign  wines  are  good  in  their  way,  but  at 
a time  like  this,  my  friend,  I say  the  native  whiskey  warms  the 
heart — ay  ! and  nerves  the  arm !” 

0’ Moore  gracefully  assented,  saying  as  he  filled  his  goblet  from 


28 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  steaming  bowl : “ I believe  you  are  in  the  right,  our  worthy 
host,  in  more  senses  than  one — strength  and  power  are  from  within 
the  nation,  whatsoever  may  come  from  without” 

Here  the  bishop  excused  himself  from  farther  potations  as  the 
evening  was  wearing  late,  and  soon  after  withdrew  to  his  ap- 
pointed sleeping  place,  preceded  by  a tall  henchman  of  the  clan 
O’Neill,  bearing  an  oil-lamp  in  which  a rush-light  glimmered 
by  way  of  wick.  It  was  never  willingly  that  Rory  O’Moore  lin- 
gered long  over  the  punch-bowl  or  the  wine-cup,  but  on  that  oc- 
casion he  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  escape  the  determined  attack 
of  Sir  Phelim  on  his  temperate  habits.  Fearing  to  exasperate  the 
choleric  chieftain  by  an  obstinate  refusal  to  continue  the  carouse, 
he  sat  much  longer  than  was  his  wont,  and  at  last  succeeded  only 
in  effecting  a timely  retreat  by  the  aid  of  a violent  headache, 
which,  indeed,  was  partly  real,  owing  to  the  share  he  had  been 
compelled  to  take  in  the  fiery  libations  so  plentifully  “poured”  by 
O’Neill,  to  the  cause  of  freedom  and  justice.  With  a very  con- 
temptuous expression  of  pity,  Sir  Phelim  returned  his  guest’s 
courteous  salutation,  while  O’Moore,  as  he,  in  turn,  marched  to 
his  chamber  after  a stately  follower  of  the  O’Neill’s,  pathetically 
murmured  to  himself  : 

“ Phelim  O’Neill ! — honest  Phelim  O’Neill ! your  drink  is  good, 
and  your  heart  better,  but  I would  your  hospitality  were  less 
urgent.” 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  and  hours  before  the  lingering  dawn, 
the  bishop’s  man  was  in  the  chapel,  preparing  all  things  for  the 
celebration  of  the  divine  mysteries.  The  gloom  of  the  place  was 
broken,  not  dispelled,  by  the  fitful  glare  of  a pine-torch  standing 
in  an  earthen  socket  close  by  the  temporary  altar,*  making  the 
damp  walls  and  the  rafters  of  black  oak  dimly  visible.  The  cold 
autumn  wind  whistled  dolefully  around  the  narrow  windows, 
which  were,  indeed,  loop-holes  filled  up  with  thin  sheets  of  horn, 
through  which  even  the  day-beam  made  its  way  but  faintly. 
There  was  a ghostly  look  about  the  place,  and  the  wailing  of  the 

# An  altar  could  not  then  have  existed  as  a fixture  in  any  building, 
public  or  private.  It  would  have  been  as  much  as  any  nobleman  or 
gentleman’s  life  was  worth  to  have  such  a thing  on  his  prem'ses. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


29 


wind  was  like  the  voices  of  perturbed  spirits.  It  is  probable  that 
Malachy  McMahon  would  have  shrunk  from  braving  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  place  and  the  hour  had  he  been  without  a companion, 
but  he  had  taken  the  precaution  of  securing  over-night  the  valu- 
able company  of  Shamus  Beg,  no  less  a person  than  the  foster- 
brother  of  Sir  Phelim.  This  individual,  fully  conscious  of  the 
dignity  arising  from  his  intimate  connection  with  so  great  a chief 
— the  greatest,  he  thought,  in  the  whole  island — gave  himself  lit- 
tle trouble  to  assist  Malachy,  deeming  his  presence  there  quite  a 
sufficient  stretch  of  condescension.  So  he  lay  at  full  length  in 
luxurious  ease  on  a bench  near  the  scene  of  Malachy’s  labors, 
with  the  flickering  light  of  the  torch  shining  on  his  well-formed 
though  somewhat  stolid  features.  He  evidently  listened  with 
much  relish  to  Malachy’s  oracular  discourse,  as  that  grave  and 
half-clerical  functionary  suspended  operations  now  and  then  to 
deliver  himself  of  an  opinion.  From  his  long  attendance  on 
priests,  dating,  in  fact,  from  his  very  boyhood,  Malachy  had 
acquired  a certain  gravity  of  demeanor  amounting  at  times  to  a 
solemnity  that  was  somewhat  ludicrous.  His  claims  to  superior 
wisdom  were,  however,  cheerfully  admitted  by  all  the  Clan 
McMahon,  amongst  whom  he  was  known  by  the  soubriquet  of 
Malachy  na  Soggarth,  or  Malachy  of  the  Priests,  and  the  stout- 
est McMahon  in  Farney,  the  boldest  McKenna  in  Truagh  would 
not  raise  a finger  for  the  king’s  crown  against  that  privileged 
individual.  Malachy  always  knew,  or  appeared  to  know,  more 
than  any  of  his  fellows,  and  amongst  the  simple  clansmen 
with  whom  he  lived  his  dictum  on  any  subject  was  almost  as 
much  respected  as  though  he  had  drank  from  the  mystic  foun- 
tains of  knowledge  in  the  halls  of  Louvain  or  Salamanca.  It 
was  natural  that  at  such  a time,  when  all  men’s  minds  were  filled 
with  portentous  thoughts  of  coming  events,  the  confidential  ser- 
vant of  a bishop,  a man  so  gifted  withal  as  Malachy,  should  be 
in  much  request  amongst  the  lower  orders  of  the  Catholics  as  an 
expounder  of  things  past,  present,  and  to  come. 

“ As  sure  as  you’re  a living  man,  Shamus  O’Hagan,”  said  Mala- 
chy, stopping  for  the  twentieth  time  or  so  in  front  of  his  com- 
panion, “ as  sure  as  you’re  a living  man,  we’ll  have  a hard  fight 
for  it,  if  God  is  pleased  to  give  us  a victory  over  them  thieving 


30 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


foreigners.  You  see  they  have  the  whole  power  of  England  at 
their  back,  and  what’s  more,  they  have  their  general,  the  black 
devil  below,  to  fight  for  them,  Christ  save  us ! for  sure  wasn’t 
it  him  that  put  it  in  their  hearts  and  in  their  heads  to  harass,  and 
plunder,  and  slaughter  poor  creatures  as  they’re  doing  ever  since 
the  time  of  old  Harry.” 

“ Never  mind,  Malachy,”  said  Shamus,  half  raising  himself 
from  his  recumbent  posture,  “ we’ll  pay  them  back  for  it  some 
of  these  days.  When  Sir  Phelim  and  the  rest  of  the  chiefs  once 
get  at  them — as  they  will  soon,  please  God  on  high ! — they’ll  settle 
them  for  ever  and  a day — I’ll  go  bail  it’s  little  hurt  or  harm  they’ll 
do,  the  murdering  villains,  when  once  we’re  done  with  them.” 

To  this  Malachy  shook  his  head  doubtingly  : “We  couldn’t  do 
it,  Shamus,  we  couldn’t  do  it — it’s  a thing  impossible,  any  way 
you  take  it,  unless  the  Sassenachs  of  the  Pale  would  stand  to 
us — as  they  ought — for  to  be  sure  they’re  of  the  same  religion  as 
ourselves,  and  for  that  reason  they  don’t  know  the  day  nor  the 
hour  they’ll  be  stripped  of  lands  and  livings  as  we  are  ourselves, 
glory  be  to  God  ! — if  they’d  only  come  out  like  men  and  fight  for 
their  country  and  their  God,  we  mightn’t  care  what  day  we’d 
hoist  the  green  flag,  as  I’ve  heard  the  bishop  say  many  a time. 
But  sure  I’m  afeard,  and  so  is  the  bishop,  that  that's  what  the 
Sassenachs  will  never  do — as  long  as  they  can  live  shut  up  in 
their  big  stone  castles,  and  hear  Mass  of  an  odd  time  down  in' a 
vault,  or  any  place  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  bloody  Eng- 
lishers  and  Scotchmen  from  beyond  seas,  they  don’t  care  a straw 
if  all  the  Irishry  in  the  country,  man,  woman  and  child,  were 
roasted  alive  or  turned  out  to  starve  on  the  wide  world,  as  thou- 
sands of  them  are  every  year,  and  them  the  flower  of  the  old 
blood,  more’s  the  pity ! — no,  no,  Shamus,  if  ever  you  see  us  gain- 
ing any  of  our  rights,  it’ll  be  with  good  help  from  France  and 
Spain — and  sure  the  ancient  prophecies  tell  us  that  plainly.” 

“ Ah,  then,  do  they,  Malachy  V'  asked  Shamus  with  reneAved 
interest,  and  he  quickly  raised  himself  to  a sitting  posture. 

“ Indeed  they  do,  Shamus — they  make  it  as  clear  as  the  sun  at 
mid-day,  that  when  Ireland  rises  to  her  feet  again,  and  the  race  of 
Heber  and  Heremon  gets  back  their  OAvn  it  will  be  with  help  from 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


31 


the  King  of  France  and  the  King  of  Spain — and  the  Pope  himself, 
Shamns  !:’  he  added  by  way  of  climax. 

“ See  that  now !” 

“ Ay,  and  there’s  great  mention  made,  too,  of  the  Irishmen  in 
foreign  countries — heroes  of  great  fame,  and  strength,  and  courage, 
like  the  mighty  men  of  old,  Fin  MacCool,  and  Ossian ” 

“ And  Hugh  of  Tyr-Owen,”  suggested  the  clansman  of  O’Neill. 
“ If  he  could  only  come  himself  with  his  warriors,  now,  from  the 
cave  of  Aileach  where  they’re  enchanted* — and  who  knows,  Mal- 
achy — who  knows  but  he  may  1 Isn’t  it  prophesied  that  he’s  to 
rise  and  head  the  men  of  Ireland  when  the  country’s  at  a great 
pinch  % ” 

It  was  evident  that  Mai  achy  had  not  much  faith  in  the  great 
Earl’s  timely  re-appearance,  for  he  cut  the  other’s  rhapsody  short 
with 

“ There’s  a man  in  this  very  house,  now,  that’ll  be  at  the  head 
and  foot  of  everything.” 

“ Oh,  to  be  sure — you  mean  Sir  Phelim!” 

“No,  I don’t — Sir  Phelim  will  be  a great  help,  I know — but 
the  man  I mean  is  Rory  O’Moore  !” 

A dissenting  grunt  and  a surly  shake  testified  the  foster-bro- 
ther’s disapproval,  but  what  he  might  have  said  was  prevented 
for  that  time  by  the  entrance  of  the  bishop,  whereupon  Shamus 
betook  himself  to  the  vast  dormitory  allotted  to  the  retainers  and 
male  domestics  of  the  house,  to  apprise  his  fellows  that  the  hour 
of  Mass  was  at  hand. 

* The  peasantry  in  the  northern  parts  of  Ulster  cherish  as  fondly  the 
belief  of  Hugh  O’Neill’s  being  enchanted  with  his  warriors  under  the 
h ll  of  Aileach  as  the  people  of  South  Munster  do  the  continued  pre- 
sence amongst  them,  in  a similar  state  of  enchantment,  of  their  great 
champion,  Garret  Earla , as*  they  familiarly  style  Gerald,  the  last 
Earl  of  Desmond. 


32 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

“ Joy,  joy,  the  day  is  come  at  last,  the  day  of  hope  and  pride — 

And  see  ! our  crackling  bonfires  light  old  Banna’s  joyful  tide, 

And  gladsome  bell,  and  bugle-horn  from  Ne  wry’s  captured  tow’rs 
Hark  ! how  they  tell  the  Saxon  swine,  this  land  is  ours,  is  ours  ! 
********* 

“ They  bann’d  our  faith,  they  bann’d  our  lives,  they  trod  us  into  earth, 
Until  our  very  patience  stirr’d  their  bitter  hearts  to  mirth  ; 

Even  this  great  flame  that  wraps  them  now,  not  we  but  they  have  bred, 
Yes,  this  is  their  own  work,  and  now,  their  work  be  on  their  head. 
********* 

“ Down  from  the  sacred  hills  whereon  a Saint*  communed  with  God, 
Up  from  the  vale  where  Bagnal’s  blood  manured  the  reeking  sod, 

Out  from  the  stately  woods  of  Truagh,  McKenna’s  plunder’d  home, 
Like  Malin’s  waves,  as  fierce  and  fast,  our  faithful  clansmen  come.” 

C.  G.  Duffy’s  Muster  of  the  North. 

It  were  tedious  to  describe  the  several  meetings  that  took  place 
during  the  next  two  weeks  amongst  the  native  lords  and  gentry 
of  the  northern  province.  The  newly-awakened  thirst  for  free- 
dom increased  from  day  to  day,  and  quickly  spreading  from  the 
chieftains  to  their  friends  and  followers,  infused  life  and  vigor 
and  swelling  hope  into  hearts  long  plunged  in  the  torpor  of 
despair.  Before  O’Moore  quitted  the  confines  of  Ulster  to  return 
to  his  post  in  Dublin,  he  had  contrived  to  visit  all  the  principal 
chiefs  at  their  widely-scattered  dwellings,  and  on  more  than  one 
occasion  had  the  satisfaction  of  bringing  them  together  to  concert 
measures  for  the  grand  and  simultaneous  effort  to  be  forthwith 
made  throughout  the  province.  He  had  seen  the  fiery  spirit  of 

* St.  Patrick,  whose  favorite  retreat  was  Lecale,  in  the  county 
Down. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


33 


Phelim  O’Neill  and  his  brother  Tirlogh  applied  to  the  work  of  sober 
and  earnest  deliberation,  in  concert  with  the  calmer  O’Reilly  and 
the  haughty  Maguire,  and  the  bold,  high-spirited  McMahon.  Nay, 
so  vast  and  so  potent  was  the  spell  of  that  auspicious  hour,  that 
even  those  who  had  been  bitter  enemies  for  years  before,  then 
met  in  peace  to  deliberate  on  the  means  of  righting  their  common 
wrongs,  and  extended  to  each  other  the  hand  of  fellowship  across 
the  council-board.  O’Moore’s  influence  was  all-powerful  amongst 
them,  and  lay  at  the  bottom  of  their  league,  although  none  of 
them  was  made  to  feel  it.  They  had  all  in  turn  felt  the  force  of 
his  persuasive  eloquence,  and  bowed  to  the  wisdom  of  his  sug- 
gestions, but  not  one  amongst  them  would  have  acknowledged  his 
superiority.  This  the  sagacious  Leinsterman  well  knew,  and  his 
enlightened  patriotism  being  happily  proof  against  that  puerile 
vanity  which  makes  men  desirous  of  public  homage,  he  was 
quite  willing  to  let  O’Neill  and  Maguire  and  the  other  Ulster 
chiefs  have  all  the  merit  of  the  work — provided  it  was  done,  he 
cared  not  who  did,  or  appeared  to  do  it.  Yet  somehow,  by  a sort 
of  poetical  justice  that  must  have  been  purely  instinctive,  the 
share  he  had  in  the  great  movement  was  both  understood  and 
appreciated  by  the  people  who,  as  often  happens,  were  more 
enthusiastic  in  the  cause  than  most  of  those  who  undertook  to  be 
their  leaders.  No  sooner  did  the  glad  tidings  of  life  and  hope 
extend  to  any  locality,  no  matter  how  remote,  than  the  name  of 
Rory  O' Moore  was  whispered  at  the  same  time  as  the  great  ma- 
gician beneath  whose  wand  the  slumbering  masses  were  to  start 
into  life  endued  with  sudden  power.  The  short  glimpses  which 
the  people  had  of  his  handsome  and  graceful  person  during  his 
flying  visits  to  their  chiefs,  the  little  they  had  heard  him  speak, 
his  extreme  devotion  to  the  national  cause,  the  mystery  which 
enveloped  his  comings  and  goings,  the  high  repute  in  which  he 
was  held,  and  though  last,  not  least,  the  well-known  misfortunes 
of  his  ruined  house,  all  conspired  to  inflame  the  minds  of  a lively 
imaginative  people  with  a romantic  interest  in  whatever  con- 
cerned him : by  common  consent  he  was  made  the  hero  of  the 
stupendous  drama  then  in  preparation,  and  his  name  became  the 
watchword  of  freedom  amongst  the  clans. 

Even  when  O’Moore  went  back  to  Dublin,  which  he  knew 
2* 


34 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


must  necessarily  be  made  tlie  centre  of  operations,  the  charm 
of  his  presence  lingered  amongst  the  clansmen  of  the  north,  and 
when  at  length  they  came  together  armed  and  determined  for 
the  struggle,  and  planting  their  feet  on  their  native  soil  vowed 
that  it  should  be  theirs  and  their  children’s,  as  of  old  it  was  their 
fathers’,  the  name  of  the  Leinster  chief  mingled  with  the  war- 
cries  of  their  respective  leaders,  and  was  heard  above  the  din 
of  many  a battle-field  where  Irish  arms  prevailed— 

“ On  the  green  hills  of  Ulster  the  whhe  cross  waves  high, 

And  the  beacon  of  war  flames  each  night  to  the  sky — 

The  taunt  and  the  sneer  let  the.  coward  endure, 

Our  trust  is  in  God,  and  in  Rory  O’ Moore.” 

Weeks  and  weeks  did  the  chiefs  and  people  of  Ulster  await 
some  symptom  of  co-operation,  or  even  word  of  encouragement 
from  their  equally  oppressed  brethren  of  the  South  and  West 
— from  the  East  they  had  no  hope  of  sympathy  or  succor,  for 
there  lay  the  English  Pale  with  its  sluggish  Norman  lords  and  its 
well-trained  bands  of  stalwart  yeomen,  more  ready  ever  to  do 
battle  for  the  autocrats  of  Dublin  Castle,  because  they  were  Eng- 
lish, than  for  their  fellow-sufferers  in  the  cause  of  religion, 
because  they  had  Irish  blood  in  their  veins.  But  except  the 
few  Leinster  Catholics  whom  O’Moore  succeeded  in  animating  with 
a portion  of  his  own  spirit,  the  tribes  of  three  provinces  either 
were  or  appeared  to  be  buried  in  the  dullest  apathy.  Whether 
this  was  real  or  apparent,  it  disheartened  the  patriots  of  Ulster, 
but  could  not  deter  them  from  making  an  attempt  to  which  they 
had  braced  up  every  nerve,  and  made  what  preparation  their 
poverty  allowed.  O’Moore,  well-knowing  the  effect  which  the 
rising  of  the  northern  province  would  have  on  the  other  native 
tribes,  and  fearing  the  tepidity  that  might  grow  out  of  procrasti- 
nation, sent  trusty  messengers  to  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  urging  him 
to  fulfil  his  part  of  their  engagement,  viz.,  the  taking  of  London- 
derry and  some  other  northern  strongholds,  and  to  effect  a gene- 
ral rising  of  all  the  Ulster  clans,  on  an  appointed  day.  Sir 
Phelim,  once  into  the  affair,  was,  to  do  him  justice,  nothing  loath 
to  help  it  on  by  every  means  in  his  power,  so  that  the  work  of 
preparation  went  bravely  forward  wherever  his  influence  reached ; 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


35 


and  where  his  could  not  reach,  other  chieftains  took  it  up,  and 
sped  it  on,  and  all  worked  together  for  a happy  completion  of 
the  herculean  task  which  of  hard  necessity  they  undertook.  The 
twenty-third  day  of  October  was  fixed  on  for  striking  a grand 
and  simultaneous  blow  in  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom, 
and  the  very  appointment  of  the  day  gave  a new  and  strong 
impetus  to  the  movement. 

Secrecy  was,  of  course,  observed  as  far  as  might  be,  yet  such 
preparations  could  not  be  made  without  coming  in  some  way 
under  the  observation  of  keen  eyes  all  through  the  province, 
whose  very  consciousness  of  guilt,  and  of  foul  wrong  done  their 
neighbors,  made  them  wTatchful  and  suspicious.  They  saw  that 
the  forges  were  a-going  early  and  late,  and  the  smiths  ever  ham- 
mering away  at  work  which  they  might  not  see.  Crowds  of 
natives  were  seen  loitering  in  and  around  the  forges,  and  the 
snatches  of  songs  wherewith  the  field  and  the  workshop  began 
suddenly  to  resound  were  all  of  a martial  or  patriotic  kind,  chiefly 
borrowed  from  the  strains  of  the  old  bards.  There  was  a cer- 
tain amount  of  independence,  too,  in  the  bearing  of  old  and 
young — a firmness  of  step  and  an  erectness  of  mien  little  com- 
mon heretofore  among  the  down-trodden  children  of  the  soil,  and 
#tliis  the  Scottish  and  English  colonists  took  to  be  the  worst 
symptom  of  all.  A presentiment  of  coming  evil  darkened  many 
a thrifty  household  which  had  grown  rich  and  prosperous  on 
the  spoils  of  poor  Popish  recusants.  The  oppressors  began  all  at 
once  to  pale  with  a nameless  fear,  and  the  bustle  of  preparation 
stealthily  going  on  the  province  over,  suddenly  extended  itself  to 
the  bawns  and  castles  of  “ the  planters.”  Couriers  were  dis- 
patched to  Dublin  from  divers  “loyal  gentlemen”  of  Ulster, 
acquainting  the  Lords  Justices  that  something  dreadful  was  in 
contemplation  amongst  the  Irish  Papists,  which  they  implored 
them  to  look  after  while  it  was  yet  possible  to  avert  the  evil. 

The  night  of  the  22d  October  came  on  dark  and  moonless. 
The  earth  was  wrapt  in  the  double  veil  of  gloom  and  silence,  and 
the  warders  on  the  English  Castles  of  Ulster,  as  they  walked  to 
and  fro  on  the  bleak  battlements  exposed  to  the  piercing  damp 
of  the  atmosphere,  amused  themselves  not  seldom,  for  lack  of 
better  employment,  with  heaping  curses  on  the  cowardly  Papists 


36 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  “wood  kerne,”  who,  hidden  away  in  huts  and  holes,  kept 
them  shivering  there  in  the  cold  night  breeze,  though  for  what 
earthly  use  they  could  not  see,  as  the  rascally  crew  were  too  care- 
ful of  their  wretched  hides  to  come  within  range  of  musket  or 
reach  of  whip. 

Such,  too,  might  have  been  the  amiable  cogitations  of  certain 
troopers  belonging  to  the  military  command  of  Captain  Lord  Blay- 
ney,  of  Castle  Blayney,  in  the  county  of  Monaghan,  as  they  rode  at 
a brisk  trot  along  the  high  road  through  the  barony  of  Farney, 
about  ten  of  the  clock  on  that  same  night.  They  had  been 
escorting  some  members  of  the  Blayney  family  to  Dundalk 
on  their  way  to  England,  and  were  now  returning  post  haste  to 
the  Castle  full  charged  with  divers  rumors  relating  to  the  sup- 
posed treacherous  practices  of  the  Irishry,  which  they  had  heard 
amongst  the  Palesmen  in  the  old  borough. 

All  at  once  the  foremost  riders  blasted  out  a military  oath,  with 
a vociferous  “ who  be  youT’ 

The  party  addressed  consisted  of  two  individuals  mounted  on 
the  rough  nags  of  the  country,  whose  approach  had  attracted  no 
attention,  in  the  greater  noise  and  clatter  of  the  cavalry.  At 
first,  the  soldiers  were  half  inclined  to  let  the  strangers  pass  un- 
molested, being  quite  sure  that  they  must  be  “ the  right  sort”  to 
venture  so  near  a troop  of  Blayney’s  horse,  the  only  cavalry  to 
be  met  in  that  wild  country.  The  answer  to  their  rough  chal- 
lenge quickly  undeceived  them. 

“ We’re  peaceable  men  going  about  our  business — pri’thee  let 
us  pass!” 

“ Peaceable  men!”  repeated  the  cornet  in  command,  “ that  is 
no  answer — be  ye  friends  or  foes  ?” 

“ Foes  we  are  not,  but  fain  would  be  friends  to  all  men,” 
replied  the  larger  and  more  prominent  of  the  two.  “ I pray  thee, 
good  sir,  detain  us  not,  for  our  business  brooks  not  delay !” 

“ Ay  ! they  say  there  is  much  business  of  that  kind  now  going 
on  hereabouts,”  said  the  officer,  and  he  planted  his  horse  full  in 
the  other’s  way.  “ Let  us  hear  who  you  are  that  we  may  know 
whether  you  be  a loyal  subject  or  one  Popishly  affected.” 

“I  am  Heber  McMahon,  Bishop  of  the  Catholics  in  these 
parts ” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


37 


“ For  God’s  sake,  my  lord  !”  cried  his  companion  in  low  smoth- 
ered accents,  “ don’t — don’t — they’ll  be  the  death  of  us — you 
know  they  will — they’ll  hang  us  without  judge  or  jury  !”  An 
exulting  shout  from  the  troopers  gave  fearful  confirmation  of  the 
justice  of  his  fears. 

“ Be  still,  Malachy,”  said  the  Bishop  with  stern  dignity ; “ they 
cannot  slay  us  unless  God  wills  it,  and  if  He  does,  we  cannot  die 
in  a better  time.  Sir,”  said  he,  addressing  the  officer,  “ 1 am 
going  to  administer  the  last  rights  of  religion  to  a dying  sinner — 
detain  me  not,  I adjure  you  by  the  Holy  Name  of  that  God  who  is 
to  judge  us  all !” 

“ Now,  by  the  Book !”  cried  the  cornet,  sternly  enjoining  his 
men  to  keep  back,  “ this  impudence  of  thine,  McMahon,  passes 
belief.  A man  whose  life  is  forfeited  by  his  own  confession — 
openly  avowing  himself  a Papist  bishop,  and  caught,  as  one  may 
say,  in  the  act  of  practising  unlawful  rites — here,  soldiers ! — 
advance  and  seize  him — but  see  that  you  harm  him  not  till  we 
place  him  in  the  captain’s  custody.  He  is  a pestilent  recusant — 
a snake  in  the  grass,  and  his  capture  will  fill  our  pockets — seize 
the  two  and  ride  on  at  full  speed — we  have  lost  too  much  time 
in  parley  with  the  wretch !” 

The  bishop  made  no  further  attempt  at  remonstrance  ; indeed, 
he  was  suddenly  seized  with  a fit  of  coughing,  just  as  the  half 
drunken  soldiers  rode  up  on  either  side  of  him  and  his  servant, 
the  latter  being,  by  this  time,  well  nigh  paralyzed  with  fear, 
though  he  kept  repeating  his  Ave  Maria  in  a voice  inaudible  to 
the  ruffian  crew  around  him. 

The  bishop’s  cough  seemed  to  annoy  the  troopers  wonderfully, 
and  the  fellow  who  rode  on  his  right  hand  taking  him  by  the 
shoulder  gave  him  a hearty  shake—”  Stop  your  coughing,  you 
old  Popish  thief,  or  I’ll  choke  you  as  dead  as  a herring.” 

It  seemed  as  though  the  fellow’s  savage  threat  acted  as  an  incan- 
tation, for  in  an  instant  the  thick  darkness  was,  as  it  were,  in- 
stinct with  life,  and  resolved  itself  into  human  beings.  The  cry  of 
“ McMahon  aboo”  arose— from  what  seemed  a thousand  voices — 
on  every  side,  before,  behind,  and  allaiound  the  terrified  troopers, 
men  started  into  sudden  existence,  armed,  they  could  see,  with 
weapons  that  assumed  fearful  shapes  in  the  darkness.  The  wild 


38 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


clan  shout  of  the  McMahons,  which  startled  even  the  well- 
trained  cavalry  horses,  was  suddenly  succeeded  by  a fierce  and 
vengeful  cry  of  “ down  with  Blayney’s  bloody  cut-throats !”  and 
instantly  the  clash  of  weapons  was  heard  on  every  side,  and 
the  horsemen,  almost  forgetful  of  their  prisoners,  thought  only  of 
effecting  their  escape,  or  if  that  were  not  possible,  of  selling  their 
lives  as  dearly  as  they  could,  when  a loud  authoritative  voice 
made  itself  heard  above  the  tumultuous  din — it  was  that  of  He- 
ber  McMahon,  commanding  his  friends  and  kinsmen  to  shed  no 
blood. 

“ Let  them  go,  in  God’s  name,”  said  he,  “ or  rather,  Eman,”  ad- 
dressing the  leader  of  the  bold  Farney  men  who,  guided  by  his 
voice,  was  now  close  at  his  side,  “ or  rather,  take  them  prisoners 
to  your  chief — but  see  they  are  kept  safe  — it  would  be  an  ill  be- 
ginning to  slay  them,  and  they  so  few  in  number.” 

Some  grumbling  voices  were  heard  amongst  the  crowd  remind- 
ing the  bishop  of  divers  outrages  committed  by  Blayney’s  troop- 
ers, but  the  stern  prelate  silenced  all  objections  by  repeating 
his  orders  to  Eman  McMahon  to  take  the  soldiers  in  charge. 

The  latter  was  easier  said  than  done,  for,  as  if  actuated  by  a 
common  impulse,  and  with  a cry  of  “ Save  who  can!”  the  score 
of  troopers  set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and,  drawing  their  sabres, 
dashed  furiously  through  the  amazed  and  frightened  multitude 
which,  falling  back  on  either  side,  from  the  horses’  hoofs,  left  a 
passage  open,  and  before  the  shouts  from  the  rear  of  “ Seize  them ! 
seize  them !”  could  be  made  intelligible  to  those  in  front,  the  op- 
portunity of  obeying  the  command  was  lost,  and  the  troopers 
were  dashing  at  headlong  speed  along  the  road  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  pike  or  musket.  Not  a sound  escaped  them  during  the 
few  moments  of  their  detention  or  even  when  they  succeeded  in 
effecting  their  escape.  The  joy  of  finding  themselves  again  at 
liberty,  so  far  safe  in  life  and  limb,  coupled  with  their  uncertainty 
as  to  whether  other  and  more  fatal  obstacles  might  not  still  im- 
pede their  progress,  gave  them  little  inclination  for  indulging  in 
idle  bravado,  and  it  was  not  till  they  came  within  sight  of  Castle 
Blayney  that  they  ventured  to  slacken  rein.  The  account  which 
they  gave  of  their  adventure  with  the  McMahons  was  wholly  in- 
explicable to  their  captain.  It  was  something  so  remote  from  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


39 


range  of  probability  that  the  Irish  should  be  abroad  in  such  num- 
bers at  that  hour,  or  that  the  notorious  Heber  McMahon  should 
thrust  himself,  as  it  were,  amongst  English  bayonets — for  his  bold- 
ness amounted  to  nothing  less — that  Blayney  was  completely 
mystified.  At  length  a bright  thought  shone  upon  his  mind,  and 
he  started  to  his  feet  and  flung  back  his  chair  with  a vehemence 
that  made  the  silver  tankards  on  the  table  before  him  dance  and 
quiver  : 

“I  have  it,  Trellingham!  by  h — I have  it!  These  Popish 
hounds  are  not  so  bold  without  good  reason — what  if  this  night 
were— let  me  see — it  is  on  the  stroke  of  midnight!” 

“Hark!  heard  you  that  savage  shout  I — you  are  right,  cap- 
tain ! There  be  mischief  brewing  this  very  hour.” 

A tumult  was  now  heard  within  the  castle,  and  soldiers  and 
domestics  crowded  unbidden  to  the  captain’s  presence  with  tid- 
ings that  the  country  was  up  jn  arms,  and  bonfires  blazing  on 
every  hill.  Measures  were  promptly  taken  to  secure  the  castle 
against  a sudden  assault,  but  its  defences  were  not  much  to 
boast  of,  and  after  doing  all  they  could  to  strengthen  it,  the  small 
garrison  awaited  in  fear  and  trembling  the  moment  when  “ the 
bloody  Irish  Papists”  should  take  it  by  storm  and  burn  it  over 
their  heads — which,  by  the  dread  law  of  retaliation,  they  had  but 
too  much  reason  to  expect. 

When  the  bishop  found  his  enemies  gone,  and  none  but  friends 
around,  he  stated  his  intention  of  resuming  his  journey,  so  roughly 
interrupted.  A couple  of  miles  were  yet  to  be  travelled,  and 
the  sick  man  lay  in  imminent  danger  of  death. 

“ But  are  they  gone?"  put  in  Malachy ; “ are  you  sure  they’ll 
not  come  back  I” 

“ No  fear  of  that,  anyhow,”  laughed  Eman,  “ you  may  take 
my  word  for  it,  Malachy  ! — what  would  you  say,  my  lord,  to  an 
escort — a dozen  or  so  of  our  Farney  men  I” 

“Not  one,  Eman,  not  one — thanks  for  your  kindness.  I do 
not  think  I shall  meet  any  more  such  obstacles  between  this  and 
my  journey’s  end,  and  it  ill  beseems  a minister  of  the  Lord  to  go 
guarded  to  the  sick  bed.” 

“ As  you  will,  my  good  lord,  there  be  friends  enow  on  foot  to 
keep  you  from  harm ; and  I warrant  the  English  will  stay  within 


40 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


doors  for  this  night.  Now,  friends,  up  to  the  hill  there  and  light 
your  bonfire — an’  ye  wait  longer,  our  signal  will  be  far  behind 
the  others — haste  for  the  honor  of  Farney  !” 

Hundreds  ran  to  do  his  bidding,  but  ere  yet  the  crackling, 
smoking  brushwood  had  burst  into  a flame,  a joyful  shout  from 
the  assembled  clansmen  rent  the  midnight  sky.  From  every  hill 
northward  a column  of  flame  was  shooting  up,  one  following  the 
other  in  quick  succession  till  the  country  far  and  near  was  tinged 
with  a ruddy  light,  and  even  the  blackness  of  the  heavens  was 
partially  broken  by  the  thousand  prophet-fires  of  earth  heralding 
the  dawn  of  freedom. 

To  those  who  ascended  the  brow  of  Slieve-gullian  that  night  at 
midnight  a glorious  spectacle  presented  itself,  if  haply  they  who 
looked  were  of  the  proscribed  class,  the  ancient  dwellers  in  the 
land.  The  hills  and  the  mountains  to  the  north  were  in  a blaze, 
and  along  the  margin  of  the  rivers  the  signal-fires  were  shooting 
up  one  by  one.  At  first  it  was  but  the  hill  country  of  Tyr-Owen 
that  sent  up  its  flaming  protest  to  the  heavens  above,  then  most 
of  Tyr-Connel  followed — the  hills  of  Antrim  were  shrouded  in 
darkness,  except  a few  along  the  borders  of  Donegal,  so,  too, 
were  those  of  Derry,  but  Down  and  Armagh  quickly  caught  up 
the  illumination,  and  onward  like  wildfire  it  passed  through 
Monaghan  and  Cavan,  and  westward  through  all  Fermanagh,  to 
the  very  gates  of  Enniskillen.  And  the  shouts  which  came 
swelling  on  the  gale,  some  full  and  distinct,  others  faint  and  far 
like  the  murmur  of  ocean-shells,  were  the  voice  of  a newly- 
awakened  people,  tribe  answering  to  tribe,  and  county  to  county, 
even  as  hill  flashed  electric  news  to  hill  that  the  children  of  the 
soil  had  at  length  risen  in  their  might  to  throw  off  the  incubus 
that  had  paralyzed  their  existence.  As  that  light  of  hope,  so 
long  expected,  broke  athwart  the  darkness  of  the  winter’s  night, 
the  persecuted  ministers  of  religion,  hiding  away  in  secret  places, 
raised  their  hands  in  thankfulness  to  Heaven  that  they  had  lived 
to  see  that  sight,  and  floods  of  joyful  tears  streamed  from  many 
an  eye  long  unused  to  weep. 

But  the  bristling  castles  of  the  strangers,  whose  prosperity  was 
based  upon  the  ruin  of  the  native  chiefs,  were  dark  and  dismal 
that  busy  night.  Terror  and  confusion  had  suddenly  taken  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


41 


place  of  insolent  security,  and  Castle  Blayney  was  not  the  only 
one  where  swift  and  terrible  vengeance  was  anticipated.  Had 
the  Catholic  people  of  Ulster  been  what  their  enemies  delight  to 
represent  them,  few  Protestants  would  have  lived  next  day 
amongst  its  hills  and  valleys  to  tell  the  tale  of  retributive  justice. 
As  it  was,  not  one  single  murder  stained  their  hands  throughout 
that  general  insurrection.*  Long  before  noon  of  the  following 
day,  Castle  Blayney  was  garrisoned  by  Eman  Oge  with  his  stout 
Farney  men,  and  Blayn.ey’s  troopers,  “ in  durance  vile,”  mar- 
velling much,  it  may  be,  at  the  unlooked-for  mercy  shown  them, 
especially  as  they  had  wounded  some  few  of  the  insurgents 
before  the  castle  was  given  up. 

Lord  Blayney’s  wife  and  children  were  also  captured,  but  he 
himself  escaped  to  Dublin  Castle  with  the  news. 

It  was  understood  among  the  chiefs  that,  for  the  present  at 
least,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  was  to  act  as  commander-in-chief  of  the 
Ulster  forces.  As  the  head  of  the  O’Neills  he  deemed  himself 
entitled  to  the  office,  and  flung  himself  with  right  good  will  into 
the  stormy  arena  where  its  duties  called  him.  Had  he  been  a 
man  of  finer  or  more  tender  feelings,  it  would  then  have  been  a 
painful  task,  for  but  few  days  before  he  had  laid  in  the  grave  the 
once-beloved  wife  of  his  youth.  The  terror  of  the  approaching 
event,  with  all  its  fearful  contingencies  and  possibilities,  had  has- 
tened the  progress  of  disease,  and  the  gentle,  but  too  timorous 
spirit  of  Lady  O’Neill  had  fluttered  out  of  its  mortal  tenement 
just  in  time  to  avoid  the  tumultuous  warfare  which  so  long  after 
convulsed  her  native  province.  She  was  borne  to  the  grave  amid 
the  loud  wailing  of  her  kinswomen  from  the  plains  of  Iveagh, 
followed  by  a long  and  imposing  array  of  O’Neills  and  Magen- 
nises,  the  latter  headed  by  her  two  brothers,  Sir  Con  and  Bryan 
Magennis.  Sir  Phelim’s  mourning  was  not  from  his  heart — his 
wife  had  latterly  been  more  of  a restraiat  on  his  actions  than  any- 

* All  Protestant  histoi  ians  admit  that  during  the  first  week  of  the 
rebellion — that  is  to  say,  in  the  first  glowing  outburst  of  recovered 
liberty,  not  one  individual  was  put  to  death  by  the  Irish.  It  was  only 
when  murders  and  massacres  perpetrated  on  themselves  drove  them  to 
it,  that  they  adopted  a system  of  retaliation 


42 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


thing  else,  and  such  being  the  case  he  viewed  her  death  at  that 
particular  juncture  as  a capital  stroke  of  good  luck.  When  her 
coffin  was  placed  amongst  the  mouldering  remains  of  her  lordly 
ancestors  in  far  Iveagh,  and  the  tomb  of  the  Magennises  shut  her 
for  ever  from  his  view ; when  he  knelt  in  prayer  with  her  brothers 
and  other  near  relatives  for  a short  space  before  quitting  the 
graveyard,  his  “ requiescat  in  pace"  was  breathed  in  all  sincerity, 
for  internally  he  added,  “ now,  indeed,  may  I rest  in  peace,  or 
rather  do  in  peace  that  which  it  behoves  me  to  do  for  myself  and 
others  ! The  great  dread  secret  which  gives  me  present  rank  and 
future  riches  came  never  to  your  ear.  I kept  that  from  you, 
Nora ! because  I knew  it  would  neither  gladden  your  heart  nor 
smooth  your  last  journey ! God  rest  you,  then,  Nora  Magennis  ! 
heaven  to  you  this  day — name  and  fame  to  me , and  freedom  to 
all  our  race ! Up,  brothers,  clansmen  of  Iveagh !”  he  shouted, 
starting  to  his  feet,  “ grief  and  affection  have  had  their  hour — 
now  for  freedom  and  revenge  !” 

Anger  was  at  first  mingled  with  surprise  on  the  faces  of  Nora’s 
kinsmen,  as  they  slowly  arose  and  blessed  themselves  after  their 
devotions.  Even  his  own  friends  and  followers  looked  surprised 
at  the  sudden,  and,  as  it  appeared,  indecorous  change  in  Sir  Phe- 
lim’s  manner.  Sir  Con  Magennis,  after  eyeing  the  other  sternly 
for  a moment,  at  last  spoke:  “Your  words  were  more  seemly, 
methinks,  at  another  time.  Neither  the  hour  nor  the  place  befits 
such  discourse.” 

“ Nay,  Sir  Con  Magennis,  you  shall  hear  what  I have  to  say, 
and  then  judge  if  the  tale  be  not  one  for  churchyard  bounds — 
ay  ! by  my  sacred  hopes,  it  is  one  to  make  the  dead  clansmen  of 
Iveagh  start  from  beneath  our  feet,  into  vengeful  life,  their  eyes 
charged  with  heaven’s  lightning  to  blast  and  burn  the  whole 
treacherous  brood  of  robbers  and  murderers !” 

“ Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,”  said  the  elder  Magennis  coldly,  “ we 
would  have,  if  it  so  please  you,  this  fresh  count  in  the  indictment 
— of  what  nature  may  it  be  that  we  are  called  on  to  hear  it  over 
our  sister’s  dead  body,  as  one  may  say  1” 

O’Neill,  folding  his  arms,  wrapped  his  long  cloak  around  him, 
and  turned  on  his  interlocutor  an  eye  wherein  his  natural  impe- 
tuosity struggled  with  the  stern  coldness  which  he  deemed  most 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


43 


fitting  the  occasion : “ You  pledged  your  word,  Sir  Con  Magennis, 
to  join  us  with  all  your  clan  so  soon  as  Tyrone  came  in  person  to 
head  the  northern  army — did  you,  or  did  you  not?” 

“ Surely  I did,  and  with  God  s help,  I mean  to  do  what  I said 
I would  do— at  the  first  news  of  the  Earl’s  landing  on  Irish  ground 
the  banner  of  Magennis  is  flung  to  the  breeze.” 

“ Chieftain  of  Iveagh,”  said  O’Neill  in  a voice  hoarse  with  sup- 
pressed passion,  “ that  news  will  you  never  hear — the  son  of  the 
great  Earl  will  you  never  lay  eyes  upon.” 

“ How  so,  man ! — speak  out  and  tell  us  what  your  words — your 
looks  portend — what  of  Tyrone?” 

“ They  have  murdered  him,  Con  Magennis  ! The  Sassenach 
has  put  him  out  of  the  way  in  the  nick  of  time — oh  ! doleful  news 
for  me  to  tell !” 

A cry  of  horror  escaped  from  every  listener,  but  Magennis  by 
a sign  commanded  silence : “ Murdered  him — did  you  say  ? — 
when  ? where  ? — they  dare  not — no,  by  St.  Columb  ! they  dare 
not !” 

“ I tell  you  they  did — choked  like  a dog  was  he  in  his  bed  by 
night — yea,  even  in.  Brussels  where  of  late  he  had  been  awaiting 
the  summons  home !” 

“ Sir  Phelim  O’Neill ! are  you  sure — sure — that  this  maddening 
news  is  true  ?” 

“ As  sure  as  that  yon  sun  is  clouded  in  the  heavens.^  The  car- 
rier who  brought  me  the  sad  tidings  from  Rory  O’Moore  in  Dub- 
lin is  still  under  my  roof — you  may  see  and  speak  with  him  when 
you  list.” 

Magennis  made  no  answer,  but  the  convulsive  working  of 
every  feature,  and  the  swollen  veins  on  his  white  forehead,  told  a 
tale  of  mighty  passion,  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express. 

“Your  hand,  O’Neill !”  he  faltered  out,  after  a pause  of  deep  mean- 
ing; “who  talks  of  delay  now  is  an  enemy  to  our  just  and  holy 
cause — the  axe  is  ready — before  God  it  shall  be  laid  to  the  root 
of  the  accursed  tree  ere  many  days  go  by.  Brother  ! — kinsmen 
what  say  ye  ? — shall  we  longer  hug  our  chains  ? — shall  we  longer 
pocket  wrongs  and  insults  ? — shall  the  blood  of  our  slaughtered 
kindred  longer  cry  to  heaven  unavenged  ?” 

A shout  of  execration,  both  loud  and  long,  resounded  through 


44 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  graveyard,  and  each  stout  clansman  grasped  his  skene,  and 
muttered  a stern  vow,  as  Bryan  Magennis  bent  his  knee  before 
his  brother  and  chief  and  swore  from  that  day  forward  to  wage 
unceasing  war  against  the  common  enemy. 

“ Home,  then,”  cried  the  chieftain  of  Iveagh,  “ home,  friends 
and  kinsmen  all,  and  speed  ye  in  making  all  things  ready — fare 
you  well,  O’Neill ! — men  of  Tyr-Owen  ! fare  ye  well ! — God  give 
us  all  stout  hearts  and  strong  arms  to  fight  His  battle  and  our 
own  ! — send  me  word,  Sir  Phelim,  when  the  day  is  fixed  on — as 
early  as  you  will,  let  it  be — and,  on  the  faith  of  Magennis,  you 
shall  hear  of  me  and  mine  full  soon !”  So  the  chieftains  parted, 
each  declining  the  other’s  proffered  hospitality ; even  the  funeral 
festivities  then  deemed  indispensable  were  for  that  time  laid  aside. 

Magennis  kept  his  word,  for  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours 
after  the  receipt  of  Sir  Phelim’s  fateful  message,  news  was 
brought  to  the  assembling  clans  that  “Newry  was  taken  by 
Sir  Con  Magennis.”  The  words  were  like  an  electric  shock, 
animating  the  tepid  and  the  dull,  giving  life  and  warmth  to  the 
cold  and  passionless,  and  sending  a thrill  of  hope  through  the 
hearts  of  all.  At  midnight  the  beacon  of  freedom  blazed  on  the 
hill-tops,  and  by  the  morning  light  the  stout  clansmen  of  the 
north  were  trooping  in  armed  bands  over  highway  and  by-way 
to  the  place  appointed  for  the  general  muster,  viz.,  the  plain  in 
front  of  Kinnard  Castle. 

It  was  a clear  frosty  day,  and  the  sun  shone  down  on  the 
crusted  earth  with  a brightness  seldom  seen  in  that  season  of 
“ melancholy  days.”  But  more  cheering  than  autumn’s  rare  sun- 
beam to  the  roused  spirit  of  the  clansmen — was  the  snow-white 
flag  so  proudly  floating  from  the  castle-keep  with  the  Red  Hand 
of  the  O’Neills  emblazoned  on  its  centre.  That  time-honored  ban- 
ner was  ever  a sign  of  hope  to  the  tribes  of  Ulster,  but  that  gene- 
ration had  never  before  seen  it  flung  in  defiance  to  the  breeze. 
Now  as  band  after  band  arrived,  it  was  the  first  object  on  which 
their  eyes  rested,  and  the  joyful  “ Lamh  dearg  ciboo  /”  echoed  far 
over  hill  and  valley,  at  every  fresh  recognition  of  the  well-loved 
ensign — and  the  stalwart  head  of  the  O’Neills,  “ Stout  Phelim,”  as 
the  clansmen  loved  to  call  him,  stood  just  without  his  courtyard 
gate,  surveying  with  a proud  and  swelling  heart  the  ever-increas- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


45 


ing  multitude  from  which  ho  was  to  form  an  army  of  offence  and 
defence.  Near  and  around  him  stood  some  half  dozen  of  the 
principal  gentlemen  who  had  already  arrived,  all  habited  like 
himself  in  the  Celtic  garb,  with  the  addition  of  a green  scarf  en- 
circling the  waist,  and  hanging  almost  to  the  knee  in  graceful 
folds.  Tirlogh  O’Neill  was  not  amongst  this  group,  but  his  burly 
form  might  be  seen  bustling  here  and  there  amongst  the  clans- 
men, his  red  face  glowing  with  excitement,  as  he  grasped  the 
hand  of  friend  and  neighbor,  and  welcomed  each  with  exuberant 
glee. 

Every  moment  some  fresh  arrival  called  forth  a shout  of  wel- 
come, and  as  chieftain  after  chieftain  joined  the  group  in  the 
shadow  of  the  old  gateway,  the  air  rang  with  his  proper  war-cry, 
caught  up  from  mouth  to  mouth  by  way  of  welcome.  Only  por- 
tions of  the  different  clans,  however,  followed  those  leaders  to  the 
muster,  the  others  remaining  for  the  present  with  the  Tanist,  or 
chief  man  on  their  own  soil,  to  secure  as  many  of  the  strong 
places  as  possible,  and  take  what  spoils  they  could  from  the 
enemy.  But  long  before  the  sun  began  to  decline  there  was 
hardly  a clan  that  had  not  sent  its  quota  to  swell  Sir  Phelim’s 
army.  O’Reillys  were  there  from  far  Breffni,  McMahons  from 
Uriel,  headed  by  the  gallant  Eman,  stout  Maguires  from  the 
lake*  shore,  O’Cahans  from  the  hills  of  Derry,  O’Hanlans  from 
the  plains  of  Ardmacha,  and  tall  McKennas  from  the  song-famed 
“ Green  woods  of  Tmagh,”  but  as  yet  the  banner  of  Magennis 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  the  men  of  Iveagh  were  still  wanting. 
It  was  just  when  their  tardiness  was  beginning  to  be  noticed  that 
a solitary  horseman  was  seen  spurring  swiftly  over  the  waste  from 
the  western  country.  Coming  near  he  was  quickly  recognized 
as  a follower  of  Magennis,  but  the  anxious  inquiries  addressed 
to  him  as  he  sped  his  way  towards  the  castle-gate  were  all  met 
by  the  single  question  of  “ Where  may  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  be 
found  V ’ Once  in  the  chieftain’s  presence,  he  was  not  slow  in 
delivering  his  message  : 

“ The  Magennis  greets  you  well,  Sir  Phelim,  and  sends  you 

* Lough  Erne,  around  whose  broad  bosom  lay  tho  ancient  domains 
of  the  Maguires. 


46 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


word  by  me,  that  if  he  and  his  are  backward  in  showing  them- 
selves here,  it  is  because  they  were  not  idle  all  day  at  home— 
the  men  of  Iveagh  were  up  betimes  this  morning,  and  have 
taken  N-ewry  from  the  enemy  !” 

It  was  then  that  the  shout  of  “ Magennis  for  ever !”  went 
up  into  the  air  from  thousands  of  manly  voices,  and  the  wild 
war-chorus  had  hot  yet  died  away  amongst  the  neighboring 
hills,  when  Sir  Phelim  gave  the  word : “ Let  us  march  to  Dun- 
gannon— that  and  Charleraont  shall  be  ours  before  to-morrow’s 
gun  S8ts !”  And  so  they  were.  Stout  Phelim  kept  his  word. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


47 


CHAPTER  IV. 

“ Amid  their  joyous  merriment,  a cloud  sails  slowly  o’er  the  sun  ! 

They  start  up  as  the  shadow  falls  ; they  look  ; it  loometh  dreadiy  dun ; 
And  tho’,  not  e’en  the  slightest  leaf  is  by  the  slumbering  breezes  stirr’d, 
Advancing  bodefully  afar  a Pyramid  of  gloom  appear’d  !” 

“ If  it  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge !” 

Shakspe are’s  Merchant  of  Venice. 

On  that  memorable  night  when  “the  beacon  of  war”  was 
flaming  in  triumphal  brightness  on  the  hills  of  Ulster,  and  a 
whole  province  awoke  into  life,  and  the  activity  which  springs 
from  sudden  hope,  while  the  chieftains  of  the  north  were  exulting 
in  the  gushing  enthusiasm  of  the  people,  how  did  it  fare  with 
their  equally-devoted  friends  in  Dublin'?  O’Moore,  and  Maguire, 
and  McMahon  were  all  there  in  person  to  direct  and  carry  out 
the  hazardous  design — the  success  of  which  would  be  almost  a 
guarantee  for  the  ultimate  triumph  of  their  cause.  They  were 
well  acquainted  with  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  Castle,  and  knew 
that  skill  and  caution  more  than  force  were  required  for  its  cap- 
ture. They  bad,  therefore,  wisely  abstained  from  making  their 
intention  known  within  the  city,  except  to  the  few  gentlemen  whose 
honor  aijd  patriotism  they  had  had  too  many  and  convincing 
proofs  to  doubt.  Their  plan  was  well  devised,  and  promised  fair 
for  success.  A hundred  chosen  men  were  to  enter  the  city  by 
ten  different  gates  on  the  following  day,  which,  being  market- 
day,  the  ingress  or  presence  of  so  small  a number  would  attract 
no  attention.  While  the  citizens  were  engaged  about  their  market- 
business  the  all  but  unguarded  gates  of  the  old  fortress  were  to 
be  taken  by  the  several  small  parties  appointed  for  the  task, 
under  the  leadership  of  the  chieftains  already  named,  with  Colonel 


48 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Plunket  and  Colonel  O’Byrne.  Arms  were  secretly  provided, 
and  hid  away  in  safe  places  ready  for  use. 

The  leaders  of  the  enterprise  had  all  supped  together  at  Lord 
Maguire’s  lodgings  in  Castle  street,  and  although  each  one  strove 
hard  to  appear  gay,  or,  at  least,  easy  in  mind,  still  the  effort  was 
too  visible,  and  the  attempt  was,  consequently,  unsuccessful.  It 
was  hard  for  men  with  such  a perilous  step  before  them  to  drown 
the  thought  of  the  coming  morrow,  with  all  its  dread  possibilities, 
in  the  sense  of  present  enjoyment.  Failure  was  not  to  be  thought 
of — the  thought  would  have  been  too  dreadful — success  they  did 
and  would  anticipate,  rejecting  wTith  scorn  all  the  chances  that 
lay  against  them,  with  a spirit  worthy  their  heroic  blood,  and  the 
noble  cause  in  which  they  had  embarked,  suppressing,  as  it  rose 
within  them,  every  thought  of  the  personal  danger  to  be  incurred. 
Yet,  even  in  that  final  hour,  when  their  daring  scheme  was  draw- 
ing to  its  completion,  and  all  had  girded  their  loins  with  strength 
and  courage  for  the  neck-or-nothing  venture,  the  distinctive  fea- 
tures of  their  respective  characters  were  broadly  marked  and 
clearly  visible.  O’Moore  was  still  calm  and  collected,  earnest, 
firm,  and  full  of  that  high-souled  confidence  which  springs  from 
a consciousness  of  innate  resources  and  capacities  yet  unde- 
veloped, together  with  a strong  conviction  of  supernatural  aid  and 
assistance.  Maguire,  on  fjhe  other  hand,  though  apparently  de- 
voted heart  and  soul  to  the  success  of  the  cause  which  he  stood 
pledged  to  advance  by  every  means  in  his  power,  still  showed 
symptoms,  involuntary  on  his  part,  of  a nervous  anxiety  as  to  the 
result,  (shrinking,  as  it  were,  from  the  approach  of  actual  peril,) 
which  was  little  in  keeping  with  his  usual  character.  Men  were 
wont  to  speak  of  Lord  Maguire  as  a young  nobleman  who  lacked 
prudence  and  was  noways  given  to  calculation,  who,  in  short,  had 
suffered  a large  portion  of  his  patrimony  to  slip  through  his 
fingers,  because  and  by  reason  of  his  reckless  habits.  It  wras 
passing  strange ; and  the  bold  brave  chieftain  of  Uriel,  who  had 
known  Maguire  from  earliest  boyhood,  found  it  hard  to  believe 
him  the  same  man,  or  to  repress  the  words  of  contemptuous  sur- 
prise which  ever  and  anon  rose  to  his  lips  as  he  marked  the  un- 
wonted paleness,  not  to  say  agitation,  of  his  friend  from  Fer- 
managh. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


49 


O’Byrne,  a tall,  broad-shouldered  mountaineer,  of  some  thirty 
odd  years,  with  a frank  and  cheerful  countenance,  hale,  hearty, 
and  good-natured,  was  the  very  beau-ideal  of  a dashing,  daring, 
high-handed  soldier,  little  disposed  to  harm  others  without  spe- 
cial good  cause,  and  just  as  little  likely  to  bear  wrong  or  insult 
tamely.  A genuine  Milesian  was  Hugh  O’Byrne,  proud  yet  not 
stern,  brave  even  to  rashness,  seldom  pausing  to  calculate  results, 
warm  and  impulsive  in  all  his  feelings,  somewhat  apt,  at  times,  to 
give  offence  by  over-free  speech,  yet  always  willing  to  make 
reparation  when  conscience  or  good  sense  convinced  him  of  hav- 
ing erred.  Independent  of  the  manifold  wrongs  sustained  by  his 
own  family  at  the  hands  of  robber-rulers,  0 Byrne’s  generous 
heart  bled  for  the  woes  of  all  his  nation,  and  if  his  was  not  the 
fierce,  insatiable  ardor  wherewith  Phelim  O'Neill  threw  himself 
into  the  struggle,  his  hostility  to  the  foreign  oppressors  was  none  the 
less  strong  or  determined.  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  O'Byrne  was 
a fair  specimen  of  an  Irish  chieftain  of  that  day,  high-spirited, 
straightforward,  honest  and  patriotic,  with  a certain  dash  of 
chivalry  in  his  composition  that  served  to  soften  and  refine  his 
outward  bearing,  especially  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  He,  too, 
had  noticed  the,  to  him,  unaccountable  depression  of  Maguire, 
but,  unlike  McMahon,  he  was  touched  by  a sadness  with  which 
he  yet  could  not  sympathize — his  own  heart  revelled  in  the 
thought  that  the  work  of  liberation  for  the  country  and  the  peo- 
ple was  so  soon  to  commence,  and  that  he  was  to  aid  in  striking 
the  first  blow.  He  had  an  intuitive  sense  of  delicacy,  however, 
that  prevented  him  from  making  any  allusion  to  a feeling  which 
he  plainly  saw  was  involuntary,  and  he  more  than  once  restrained 
McMahon  by  a look  or  a sign  when  that  gentleman  seemed  dis- 
posed to  address  his  lordship  in  terms  more  candid  than  polite. 

As  for  Plunket,  he  sat  looking  from  one  to  the  other  through 
half  closed  eye-lids,  a singularly  humorous  smile  on  his  thin  fea- 
tures, mingled  at  times  with  the  slightest  possible  expression  of 
contempt,  for  Richard  Plunket,  although  a patriot  at  heart,  and, 
moreover,  a zealous  Catholic,  was  still  a Norman  by  descent, 
and  as  such  looked  down  upon  “ the  mere  Irish”  with  a sense  of 
superiority  which  in  his  case,  however,  was  good-natured  and 
rather  patronizing  than  otherwise.  Still  he  had  quite  enough  of 
3a 


50 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Norman  superciliousness  to  enjoy  in  a sly  way  what  he  justly 
termed  “ the  old  Milesian  crustiness  and  thin*  skin”  of  his  com- 
panions. Notwithstanding  all  that,  Richard  Plunket  was  a man 
of  honor  and  probity,  clear-headed  and  far-seeing,  who  deserved 
well  of  Iris  countrymen  as  being  the  first  man  of  English  blood 
who  joined  the  ranks  of  the  native  Irish  in  that  memorable  strug- 
gle for  freedom.  His  first  adhesion  was  owing  to  the  influence  of 
O’Moore,  between  whom  and  himself  a strong  and  sincere  friend- 
ship had  been  growing  for  years.  Connected  by  family  ties,  and 
pretty  nearly  of  the  same  age — they  had  been  boys  together,  and 
in  their  case,  at  least,  the  distinction  of  races  was  obliterated,  and 
the  feuds  of  past  times  voluntarily  forgotten.  The  high-bred 
descendant  of  the  princes  of  Leix  had  many  friends  within  the 
English  Pale,  but  none  so  true,  so  steadfast  as  Richard  Plunket. 

The  long  evening  passed  away,  the  stilly  night  wore  on 
apace,  and  still  the  party  lingered  as  if  loath  to  separate, 
when  the  measured  tread  of  armed  men  was  heard  echoing 
through  the  deserted  street, — near  and  nearer  the  sound  came, 
and  some  of  the  gentlemen,  becoming  alarmed,  rushed  to  extin- 
guish the  lamp.  Maguire,  smiling  at  their  fears,  pointed  to  the 
time-piece  on  the  wall,  which  was  just  on  the  stroke  of  ten.* 

“ It  is  the  city  watch,  my  friends ! — do  but  keep  quiet,  and  they 
will  pass  on !” 

The  room-door  opened  softly,  and  a lank,  thin-visaged  individ- 
ual in  a bob-wig  protruded  his  head  cautiously  through  the  aper- 
ture. The  leaden  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Maguire’s  face  and 
there  they  rested. 

“ Sdeath,  man  !”  cried  his  lordship,  half  angrily  ; "what’s  amiss 
that  you  look  so  frightened  V ’ 

“ My  lord,  it’s  Sheriff  Woodcock  that  wants  to  know  why  there 
be  lights  in  my  house  at  such  an  untimely  hour ” 

“ Sheriff  Woodcock !”  cried  Maguire  with  a start;  “ wherefore 
comes  he  here 

* It  is  hardly  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  ten  o’clock  was 
as  far  in  the  night  in  the  seventeenth  century  as  twelve  is  in  the  nine- 
teenth. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


51 


“ That  I know  not,”  replied  Nevil  the  surgeon,  “ but  he  seems 

marvellously  curious  to  know  who  we  have  within ” 

“ Let  him  travel  farther  in  quest  of  knowledge,  the  hangman !” 
said  McMahon  in  a voice  so  loud  as  to  excite  the  apprehensions 
even  of  0’ Moore,  who  admonished  him  by  signs  to  keep  quiet. 

“Nay,  my  very  good  sir,”  quoth  Nevil,  “ we  may  not  answer 
law-officers  in  that  fashion — at  least  here  in  the  city.  I told 
him  it  was  only  the  Lord  Maguire  making  merry  with  some 
noble  gentlemen ” 

“ You  did  !”  exclaimed  Maguire,  starting  from  his  seat  with  a 
flushed  and  changing  countenance.  “You  told  him  so,  Nevil  1” 
“ Surely  I did,  but  be  not  wrothful,  my  good  lord — I told  him 
you  were  all  civil,  well-behaved  gentlemen,  and  that  I would 
answer  for  your  peaceable  ways,  though  I couldn’t  deny  but  what 
you  were  from  the  Irish  country,  and  come  of  the  old  blood,  all 

excepting  Master  Plunket ” 

Some  of  the  company  laughed,  but  others,  seeing  more  in  the 
affair  than  the  ordinary  vigilance  of  the  night-watch,  were  in 
more  humor  to  give  the  pragmatical  cliirurgeon  an  occasion  to 
test  his  skill  on  his  own  bones,  than  to  relish  the  quaintness  of 
his  words  or  the  oddity  of  his  demeanor. 

“Let  us  throw  him  out  to  his  sheriffship  as  a love-token!” 
said  one. 

“ Nay,  rather,  let  us  tie  him  to  the  pump  near  at  hand,”  said 

another,  “ till  he  learns  to  keep  his  tongue  from  wagging ” 

“ Jest  an’  you  will  at  my  poor  expense,  noble  sirs,”  said  Nevil 
with  sly  emphasis,  “ but  were  it  not  for  my  promise  that  you  should 
all  be  in  your  beds  within  the  space  of  half  an  hour  you  might 
have  been  taking  the  air  by  this  time  in  company  with  the  worship  • 
ful  Sheriff  Woodcock — I pray  ye  all  to  mark  well  my  words,  and 
straightway  betake  yourselves  to  your  proper  lodgings,  ere  your 
laughter  be  turned  another  way.  Now  do  as  you  list,  and  blame 
not  Peter  Nevil,  if  evil  befall  ye!” 

The  bob-wig  vanished,  the  door  closed,  but  somehow  the 
mirth  of  the  company  had  departed  with  Peter,  and  after  a short 
and  whispered  consultation  it  was  agreed  that  Nevil’s  warning  was 
not  to  be  slighted,  inasmuch  as  none  of  them  had  any  particular 


52 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


reason  at  that  particular  time  for  desiring  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  worshipful  Woodcock. 

“ They  be  birds  of  ill  omen  in  this  quarter,”  observed  Plunket, 
who  could  never  resist  the  temptation  to  give  utterance  to  what 
he  considered  a good  thing;  “ any  cock  were  better  than  a wood- 
cock here  within  the  city  limits  !” 

“ Until  such  time  as  we  have  a cage  ready  for  him  in  Birming- 
ham Tower,*”  added  Roger  O’Moore,  with  his  expressive  smile. 

This  allusion  was  well-timed,  and  served  to  restore  a portion  of 
the  cheerfulness  so  lately  lost.  The  high  hopes,  the  daring  con- 
ceptions cherished  so  long,  and  for  one  short  moment  partially 
dimmed,  darted  again  into  life  and  glowing  fervor  at  the  mention 
of  the  hated  prison,  the  Irish  Bastile,  where  so  many  of  the  na 
tion’s  noblest  and  best  had  languished,  suffered — and  died. 

“ Let  us  hence  to  our  lodgings,  friends  and  comrades,”  said 
O’Byrne,  gayly,  as  he  tightened  his  leathern  belt  around  him  and 
threw  his  cloak  over  his  shoulders  ; “we  have  glorious  work  in 
hand  for  the  morrow — nay,  our  noble  host,  ask  us  not  to  dip 
farther  into  that  charmed  bowl — we  need  steady  hands,  ay  ! and 

cool  heads  for  the  task  before  us ” 

“ You  say  truly,  colonel,”  said  O’Moore,  with  an  approving 
nod  ; “ our  game  is  a bold  one,  and  the  stakes  are  fearfully  high, 
but  if  well  played,  it  will  give  back  the  heart  of  Ireland  to  its 
dissevered  members,  and  set  the  life-blood  flowing  once  again 
from  end  to  end  of  the  old  land.  Your  hand,  my  lord! — • 
McMahon,  yours ! — the  touch  of  an  Ulsterman’s  hand  sets  my 
pulses  throbbing  this  night,  when  I bethink  me  of  what  is  passing 
in  that  north  country  by  this — no,  not  by  this — ” he  added, 
glancing  at  the  time-piece,  which  barely  indicated  the  tenth  hour 
— “ no,  not  by  this — at  midnight  the  signal-fires  are  to  blaze  on 
northern  hills — Fermanagh  and  Monaghan  are  busy  scenes  by 
now — and  the  O’Reillys  are  stirring  in  Breffny,  and  the  men 
of  Tyr-Ovven  are  not  idle — St.  Bridget ! an’  we  were  there  at  this 
hour,  to  see  those  bold  clansmen  throwing  off  their  shackles ” 

* The  principal  tower  of  Dublin  Castle,  in  troublous  times,  used 
as  a State-prison.  This  portion  of  the  edifice  was,  therefore,  as  may 
well  be  supposed,  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  the  native  Irish. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


53 


“ No  need  to  go  so  far  for  a sight,  Roger,”  said  his  friend  Plun- 
ket ; “ before  the  morrow’s  sun  sets  behind  our  own  Ben-Edir,  we 

may  see  the  green  flag  waving  over  Dublin  Castle ” 

“May!"  repeated  the  fiery  Wicklow-man ; “say  rather  we 
shall  and  must ” 

“ If  God  so  wills  it,  O’Byrne,”  rejoined  Plunket. 

“ Oh,  surely,  surely — that  is  understood,  but ” 

“ But  nothing  is  certain,”  put  in  Maguire,  in  alow,  earnest  tone, 
as  he  accompanied  his  friends  to  the  stair-head  ; “if  our  eyes  see 
not  the  sight  you  mention,  friends  and  loyal  gentlemen,  others 

whom  we  wot  of  will  see  us  in  doleful  plight ” 

“ Hear  the  raven  croak !”  said  McMahon  with  good-humored 
irony ; “ where  learned  you  that  dismal  note,  Connor  1 — methinks 
it  was  not  by  Erne’s  banks  or  in  those  old  Fermanagh  woods 

where  you  and  I chased  the  fallow  deer  so  oft  together ” 

Maguire’s  answer  was  prevented  by  O’Moore,  who  laid  a hand 
on  the  arm  of  each  of  the  northern  chieftains  as  they  stood  to- 
gether. “ Enough  for  the  present,”  said  he,  in  a low,  impressive 
voice,  his  eyes  glistening  with  strange  brightness  through  the  dim 
light  of  the  lampless  lobby,  “ to-night  our  friends  in  the  north 
will  stand  on  their  own  soil  as  freemen — midnight  is  their  hour 
of  freedom  —shall  not  to-morrow’s  noon  be  ours  ]” 

Every  voice  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  each  clasped  the 
other’s  hand  with  the  energy  of  determination  ; then  one  by  one 
Maguire’s  guests  departed  and  went  their  several  ways,  unnoticed 
in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow  streets,  as  they  confidently  believed. 

Their  host,  left  alone,  turned  moodily  back  into  the  room  they 
had  left,  muttering  to  himself : “ Midnight ! — it  is  a dreary  hour 
for  those  who  fear — but  what  should  I fear  more  than  the  others  1 
— fear ! it  is  an  ill-word — no,  I do  not  fear — wherefore  should 
1 1 Saints  above  ! who  is  here  V ’ 

“ Only  a poor  brother  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis!”  said  a 
meek  voice  from  the  depth  of  a high  steeple  hood,  and  a figure, 
which  had  taken  possession  of  a chair  in  front  of  the  now  expir- 
ing fire,  rose  to  its  feet  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  turned  towards 
the  interrogator  a pale  emaciated  countenance,  looking  ghastly 
and  spirit-like  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  hood. 

“ But  how  came  you  here  V'  stammered  Maguire,  strangely 


54 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


agitated ; “ what  is  your  business  with  me — speak,  friar ! I charge 
you  speak !” 

“ There  be  danger  abroad,”  said  the  friar  with  solemn  emphasis, 
in  a low  muffled  voice ; “ I know  a noble  quarry  for  which  a pit- 
fall  is  in  waiting,  an’  it  move  many  paces  from  where  it  stands.” 

“ In  God’s  name,  speak  plainly,”  said  Maguire,  with  increasing 
agitation. 

“ Leave  this  house,  an’  you  love  your  life,”  said  the  Capuchin, 
with  a warning  motion  of  the  finger;  “ lose  not  a moment,  or  it 
may,  even  now,  be  late  !” 

“ Friar-'”  said  Maguire,  solemnly,  “ I know  you  not,  and  I 
marvel  much  at  the  nature  of  your  speech.  Wherefore  should  I 
fly  as  a felon  I” 

“ As  a felon  you  will  be  judged,  full  soon,  an’  you  do  not  a 
friend’s  bidding !” 

“ But  what — what  is  the  danger 

“ The  Sheriff  has  set  a watch  on  this  house— you  know  best  in 
how  far  that  may  concern  you.  Heaven  grant  you  may  even 
now  escape ; and  should  ill  befal  you,  Connor  Maguire,  there  be 
those  within  the  city  walls  whom  the  news  will  sore  afflict !” 

Maguire  started  and  fixed  his  eye  on  the  haggard  face  before 
him — much  of  its  character  he  might  not  see. 

“ Stranger,  I will  do  your  bidding — but  tell  me  first,  who  they 
be  that  sent  you  hither,  at  the  risk  of  your  own  life  V’ 

A scornful  smile  flitted  over  the  ghostly  visage.  “ I care  not, 
an’  I save  yours — that  is — a poor  Capuchin’s  life  is  of  small  value 
weighed  against  the  Lord  Maguire’s — but  why  tarry  so  long — give 
me  but  one  word  of  kindness — gratitude  for  those  who  take  so 
deep  an  interest  in  your  welfare,  and  I lead  you  hence  by  a 
secret  way !” 

“ Now,  out  upon  you,  Capuchin !”  Maguire  exclaimed,  with  a 
■vehemence  as  sudden  as  unaccountable  ; “you  a priest  of  God’s 
Church,  and  holding  communion  with — nay,  I name  no  names, 
but  say  to  those  whom  it  concerns,  that  what  I said  before  I say 
now  again — my  mind  is  still  the  same  on  the  matter  they  and  I 
wot  of — and  say  further  from  me  that  Connor  Maguire  would  not 
take  the  boon  of  life  at  such  hands ” 

“ This  is  your  final  answer,”  said  the  friar,  very,  very  calmly. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


55 


u It  is,  and  let  me  tell  you,  father,  that  I am  much  surprised, 
and  no  little  afflicted  to  see  a man  of  yo-ur  holy  state  herding 
with  like  company,  and  doing  their  will,  moreover,  in  slavish 
fashion ! ” 

It  is  well,”  said  the  pretematurally  calm  voice  from  beneath 
the  hood;  “ I marvel  not  that  the  lofty  feeling  of  gratitude  which 
cast  at  your  feet  a heart  which  the  proudest  and  noblest  have 
sought  in  vain,  should  be  a stranger  to  your  flinty  bosom — it  was 
said  of  old  that  nothing  good  could  come  out  of  Galilee — fool — 
fool  that  I was  to  look  for  good  where  good  never  yet  was 
found.  But  the  dream  is  past — ay ! and  for  ever — and  love — ” 
the  voice  ceased  a moment — a low,  strange  sound  like  hys- 
teric laughter  was  heard — then  was  added,  in  a hissing  tone,  the 
figure  approaching  the  astonished  nobleman  till  it  placed  itself 
within  a few  feet  of  where  he  stood,  “ love  will  be  hencefor- 
ward hate — ay  ! hate — stay  or  go  now — as  you  will — the  toils 
are  around  you,  go  where  you  may — and  I pray  the  just  and 
righteous  God  that  the  doom  of  traitors  may  fall  soon  and  sud- 
denly on  all  concerned  in  your  foul  plot ! — should  that  thing 
come  to  pass,  Connor  Maguire  ! you  will  think  of — the  Capu- 
chin friar — ha ! ha!  ha!” 

A name  was  on  Maguire’s  lips  when  he  could  command  his 
voice  to  utter  a sound,  but  whatever  he  might  have  purposed  to 
say,  in  the  overwhelming  surprise  of  the  moment,  was  now  too  late 
to  reach  the  ear  of  the  strange  visitor — gliding  through  the  half 
open  door  he  had  vanished  in  the  obscurity  of  the  passage  without. 

At  first,  the  whole  seemed  to  Maguire  like  a hideous  dream, 
and,  hastily  pouring  out  a goblet  of  wine/  he  swallowed  it  at  a 
draught,  hoping  that  its  generous  warmth  might  overcome  tho 
dreary  chillness  which  was  creeping  over  him,  but  all  in  vain — 
nor  wine,  nor  reason,  could  dispel  the  gloomy  impression  left  on 
his  mind  by  the  parting  words  of  the  strange  being  whose  iden- 
tity he  was  at  no  loss  to  establish,  any  more  than  he  could  rea- 
sonably doubt  of  the  dread  reality  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard. 

In  the  silence  and  loneliness  of  the  place — for  no  sound  was 
heard  within  the  house — Maguire  could  not  divest  himself  of  the 
thought  that  he  was  surrounded  by  danger — his  morbid  ima- 
gination peopled  the  very  air  with  hostile  creatures — spies,  it 


56 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


might  be,  and  from  Nevil’s  manner,  during  his  brief  appearance, 
his  suspicions  settled  on  him.  He  was  alone,  without  any  friend 
to  consult,  and  the  dark  presentiment  within  him,  had  other 
motives  been  wanting,  was,  to  a mind  like  his,  sufficient  to  make 
him  decide  on  some  step  that  might  possibly  avert  the  imminent 
peril  in  which  he  began  to  fancy  himself,  though  of  its  exact 
nature  he  could  form  no  idea.  Strangely  enough,  he  forgot  what 
his  mysterious  visitor  had  said,  that  there  was  a watch  set  on  the 
house,  and  believing  that  a change  of  quarters  might  ensure  his 
safety  till  morning  light — or  even  till  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
great  attempt — he  softly  made  his  way  down  the  dark  stair-case, 
and,  taking  the  key  from  its  usual  place,  let  himself  into  the 
street,  without  any  clear  or  definite  idea  as  to  whither  he  should 
steer  his  course.  Not  unseen  of  Sheriff  W oodcock’s  understrapper 
walked  Connor  Maguire  through  the  shades  of  night.  From 
under  the  archway  which  had  sheltered  his  precious  body,  stepped 
forth  John  Steeples,  and  after  the  Irish  lord  paced  he  at  safe  and 
respectful  distance,  anxious,  no  doubt,  to  see  him  safely  and 
snugly  housed  again  for  the  comfort  and  satisfaction  of  his  wor- 
shipful principal.  Now  had  Master  Woodcock  any  definite  or  special 
charge  against  Lord  Maguire  or  his  late  guests,  it  would  have  saved 
honest  John  Steeples  some  trouble,  for  nothing  would  have  been 
easier  than  to  procure  a few  of  his  comrades  and  “ grab  them”  on 
the  spot,  but,  unluckily,  no  instructions  had  been  issued  for  their 
arrest,  they  were  only  suspected  in  a gene"al  way,  as  it  were,  and 
hence  the  necessity  for  John  Steeples’  continued  surveillance , 
without  any  further  steps  in  aggression.  So  on  walked  Lord 
Maguire,  and  on  followed  John  Steeples,  past  the  old  Church  of 
St.  Nicholas^  down  through  Christchurch  Lane,  past  the  dark 
dead  walls  of  the  old  Cathedral,  under  the  frowning  arch  of  Or- 
mond’s Gate,  and  so  on  into  Cook  street,  where  the  young  noble- 
man was  soon  lost  to  John’s  sight,  but  not  before  the  sharp  eyes 
of  the  latter  had  marked  the  humble  domicile  into  which  three 
gentle  knocks  had  gained  him  admission.  Having  taken  due 
note  of  the  house,  John  Steeples  moved  his  bulky  corpus  with 
quickened  paces  towards  the  place  where  he  knew  his  employer 
was  likely  to  be  found  in  snug  quarters  that  cold  raw  night. 

While  the  chieftain  of  Fermanagh  was  taking  his  lonely  way 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


57 


through  the  upper  streets  of  the  old  city,  he  little  dreamed  of 
what  was  passing  by  the  water  side  in  one  of  the  mansions  on 
Merchant’s  Quay.*  Within  the  last  two  hours  there  had  been 
quite  a commotion  amongst  the  inmates  of  the  house,  from  the 
dark-browed,  sinister-looking  personage  enveloped  in  ample  robes 
of  grave  official  character,  whose  air  and  bearing  expressed  the 
consciousness  of  high  authority,  to  the  humblest  lackey  who  ren- 
dered service  to  the  great  man’s  great  man.  Alone  in  solemn 
state  the  master  of  the  mansion  paced  a spacious  chamber  to  and 
fro,  muttering  to  himself  dark  and  incoherent  sentences,  and 
chuckling  with  strange  mirth  at  times  the  while  he  waited  with 
nervous  impatience  for  some  intelligence  which  was  evidently 
delayed  too  long  for  his  liking.  Every  now  and  then  he  stopped 
and  listened,  then  rang  a hand-bell,  which  lay  on  a large  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  covered  with  crimson  cloth,  and  strode  to 
the  door  to  meet  the  tidings  half  way,  but  it  was  long  before  any 
came.  Always  to  his  question  of  “ Any  of  them  come  yet  V* 
the  same  unsatisfactory  answer  was  returned.  A fierce  impreca- 
tion, spoken  withal  in  godly  phrase,  was  on  the  man’s  lips,  in 
anticipation  of  a like  reply  to  his  last  imperious  query,  when  the 
serving  man  hastily  put  in : “ There’s  one  waiting  without  to 
see  your  lordship’s  honor.” 

“ Who  is  it,  sirrah  1 Not  one  of  the  lords-councillors  surely  V1 

‘ Not  so,  my  lord,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  man  is  habited  like 
the  devil’s  birds  named  by  the  recusants,  friars  or  something  of 
the  kind!” 

A sudden  change  passed  over  the  heavy,  puritanical  features 
of  Sir  William  Parsons,  for  he  it  was.  “ Admit  him  quickly.” 

* To  those  who  know  anything  of  the  Dublin  of  our  day  it  will  seem 
strange  to  hear  of  aristocratic  dwellings  on  the  “ Quays,”  and  yet 
they  were  as  numerous  there  two  hundred  years  ago — perhaps  more 
numerous — than  the  commercial  buildings.  It  is  now  hardly  credible 
that  some  of  the  first  legal  functionaries  and  literary  celebrities  of 
those  days,  together  with  many  distinguished  members  of  the  gentry 
and  even  the  nobility,  had  their  town  dwellings  in  Bridge  street,  Wine- 
tavern  street,  and  all  around  that  neighborhood,  which  seems  to  have 
been  quite  a fashionable  locality  at  that  time. 

3* 


58 


THE  CONFEDERATE  'CHIEFTAINS. 


The  servant  vanished.  “ Friars ! ay ! he  must  needs  he  one  of 
onr  own  friars — ha ! ha! — godly  men  they  be,  too,  for  all  the 
heathenish  fashion  of  their  garments ! — ay  ! so  I thought,”  as  the 
monk  of  St.  Francis  glided  in,  cautiously  closed  the  door  after 
him,  and  advanced  to  the  very  contre  of  the  room. 

“How  is  this'?”  cried  the  Lord  Justice;  “fellow,  you  are  a 
stranger — why  enter  here  in  that  garb  V' 

“Ha!  ha!”  laughed  the  monk,  “as  though  such  mummers 
never  appeared  in  this  most  godly  house ! Fear  not,  however, 
Sir  William  Parsons,  I be  no  enemy  for  all  my  frieze  robe.  I 
came  hither  with  good  intent,  as  you  will  presently  see — mo- 
ments are  precious.  You  received  certain  depositions  this  night 
from  one  Owen  O’Conolly,  a servant  of  Sir  John  Clotworthy.” 

“ Surely  I did,”  said  Parsons,  eyeing  the  other  as  closely  as 
the  deep  hood  permitted  ; “ know  you  aught  appertaining  to  that 

matter — an’  you  do,  good  payment  will  not  be  wanting ” 

“ Your  gold  I seek  not,  Sir  William  Parsons,”  said  the  monk 
sternly,  “ but  there  be  those  amongst  these  Romish  traitors  whom 
I would  see  brought  to  justice,  and  that  full  speedily — an’  you 
wait  till  morning  light,  you  will  stand  but  poor  chance  of  taking 
them.” 

“ But  how — where  can  we  come  at  them  now !” 

“ Leave  that  to  Sheriff  Woodcock — he  knows  ere  now  where 
the  conspirators  lie  hidden.” 

“ So  there  is  a plot,”  said  Parsons  musingly. 

“Can  you  doubt  it  when  you  have  O’Conolly’s  sworn  evidence 
of  the  fact  V1 

There  was  a keen  touch  of  irony  in  this  question  which  the 
Lord  Justice  well  understood,  and  he  bristled  up  accordingly. 

“ Nay,  nay,  Sir  William,”  said  the  monk  in  a tone  half  jeering, 
half  soothing ; “ what  matters  it  to  you  or  me  that  your  deponent  be 
a drunken  serving-man — his  deposition  is  none  the  less  clear 
— it  will  serve  your  turn  and  mine,  too — it  will  help  to  build  up 
your  fortune,  and  it  will  give  the  balm  of  revenge  to  my  heart — 
revenge ! — ay  ! truly — but  this  is  folly — Sir  William  Parsons ! 
you  have  the  germ  of  a great  rebellion  between  your  fingers — 
crush  it,  I tell  you ! crush  the  poisonous  growth  ere  it  crush  and 
destroy  you — all ” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


50 


The  Lord  Justice  had  been  listening  in  silent  wonder  to  the 
vehement  and  most  bitter  speech  of  the  friar,  but  at  the  last  words 
uttered  in  a somewhat  softer  tone,  he  started  and  fixed  his  eyes 
anew  on  the  mysterious  personage  before  him. 

“ Surely  I have  heard  that  voice  ere  now — say,  am  I right  V1 
“ I came  not  hither  to  answer  questions  of  that  nature,”  said 
the  monk  haughtily,  “ but  to  refresh  your  lordship’s  memory  con- 
cerning the  traitorous  doings  of  Connor  Maguire,  Costelloe 
McMahon,  and  others  of  their  associates.  You  have  heard  that 
to-morrow's  morn  is  fixed  for  the  execution  of  their  plot — look  to 

it  now,  or  the  morrow’s  eve  may  find  you  a headless  man ” 

“You  are  right,  good  monk — if  monk  you  be ” 

“ Good  me  no  goods — nor  monk  nor  priest  am  I — God  forbid  I 
were ! ” 

“Well!  let  us  not  quarrel  on  that  head,”  said  Parsons  in  no 
small  trepidation  ; “ an’  you  think  there  is  real  danger,  friend ! I 
will  repair  to  the  house  of  my  honorable  colleague,  Sir  John 
Borlase,  and  there  await  the  assembling  of  the  Council — being 

without  the  walls,  it  may  be  safer ” 

“ As  you  will,”  said  the  stern  voice  from  the  hood,  “ but  what 
you  do,  do  it  quickly  !”  The  monk  was  gone  ere  Parsons  could 
summon  a servant  to  see  him  out.  The  Lord  Justice,  happily  for 
his  own  peace,  heard  not  the  malicious  laugh  which  echoed 
through  the  vaulted  halls  below  as  the  Capuchin  roused  the 
porter  from  his  nap  to  give  him  egress. 

A little  while  after,  and  Sir  William  Parsons  was  engaged  in 
deep  consultation  at  the  house  of  Sir  John  Borlase,  in  College 
Green,*  with  that  functionary  and  some  three  or  four  members  of 
the  Privy  Council,  over  the  sworn  depositions  of  the  drunken 
servant,  O’Conolly,  who  was  secured  and  brought  back  for 
further  examination. 

At  midnight,  Lord  Maguire  was  arrestedf  at  the  house  of  his 

* College  Green  was  then  outside  the  city  limits, 
t To  commemorate  the  capture  of  Lord  Maguire,  the  bells  of  St. 
Audeon’s — in  which  parish  it  took  place — were  rung  at  midnight  on 
the  22d — 23d  October  of  every  succeeding  year.  This  custom  is  said 
to  have  been  continued  down  till  the  year  of  Emancipation,  1829. 


60 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tailor  in  Cook  street,  just,  as  he  bitterly  thought,  when  the  hills 
and  dales  of  Fermanagh  were  blazing  with  the  signal-fires  of 
freedom,  and  his  faithful  clansmen  were  eagerly  looking  forward 
to  news  of  victory  and  noble  exploits  from  their  absent  chief. 
As  the  guard  dragged  him  roughly  along  in  the  direction  of  the 
prison,  a voice,  which  the  unhappy  nobleman  well  knew,  addressed 
him  in  mocking  tones  from  a deep  archway : “ My  benison  on 
thy  head,  Connor  Maguire — benedicite,  my  son !”  The  chief- 
tain shuddered,  but  made  no  answer. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


61 


CHAPTER  V. 

“Such  which  breaks  the  sides  of  loyalty,  and  almost  appears  in  loud 
rebellion.”  Shakspeare’s  Henry  VIII. 

“Then  up  starts  the  lord  of  Rathgogan,  and  fierce  is  the  flash  of  his  eye, 
As  he  glares  on  the  dark  brows  around  him  with  bearing  defiant  and 
high.”  Ballad  of  “ Sir  Domnall.” 

The  Lords  Justices  and  the  Council  passed  a sleepless  night 
at  the  house  of  Sir  John  Borlase,  and  the  morning  light  found 
them  still  in  solemn  conclave,  with  O’Conolly’s  depositions  be- 
fore them.  The  master  of  the  house,  old  and  somewhat  inert  by 
nature,  lay  fast  asleep  in  an  easy  chair,  oblivious  of  plots,  massa- 
cres and  conflagrations,  nay,  even  of  fines  and  confiscations,  as 
the  discordant  music  of  his  nasal  organ  from  time  to  time  bore 
witness,  to  the  no  small  annoyance  of  the  other  “ grave  and  re- 
verend seigniors”  who  were  still  on  duty,  and  wide  awake.  Of 
these  some  were  disposed  to  make  merry  over  the  whole  affair, 
regarding  O’Conolly’s  evidence  as  a capital  joke.  Of  this  num- 
ber was  Sir  Robert  Meredith,  the  Lord  High  Chancellor,  a man 
of  prudence  and  sagacity,  if  possessed  of  no  higher  quality.  He 
had  from  the  first  ridiculed  the  idea  of  arresting  a peer  of  parlia- 
ment on  the  sole  testimony  of  low-born  varlet  who,  from  drunk- 
enness, could  hardly  make  himself  intelligible.  When  Sir  Robert 
joined  the  council  on  the  previous  night  he  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal  his  surprise  on  finding  that  such  depositions  were  being 
acted  upon  in  a matter  of  such  moment,  while  the  “ scurvy  fellow,” 
as  he  styled  him,  who  gave  the  information,  had  not  even  been 
detained  as  security  for  the  truth  of  his  allegations.  Parsons,  who 
had  received  the  depositions,  and  also  discharged  O’Conolly  on 
his  sole  responsibility,  was  somewhat  nettled  by  the  Chancellor’s 
stinging  comments  on  the  proceeding,  but  seeing,  at  the  samo 


62 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


time,  the  utility  of  having  his  informant  at  hand,  he  immediately 
sent  messengers  in  pursuit  of  him  all  through  the  city.  When 
the  fellow  was  at  length  secured  and  conveyed  to  the  mansion  on 
College  Green,  Sir  Robert  was  not  the  only  one  who  was  moved 
to  mirth,  for  the  witness,  being  brought  before  the  Council,  was 
found  wholly  incapable  of  answering  any  question  put  to  him. 
He  had  been  taken  from  the  hands  of  the  watchmen  who  were 
about  consigning  him  to  the  Black  Dog,*  and,  when  introduced 
to  the  august  presence  of  the  nation’s  rulers,  was  unable  to  stand 
without  support.  Still  there  was  an  attempt  made  by  some  of 
the  Lords,  at  the  suggestion  of  Parsons,  to  examine  him.  His 
deposition  on  the  preceding  evening  was  read  over  to  him ; ho 
listened  with  drunken  gravity,  steadying  himself  on  his  feet  by 
the  aid  of  the  two  servants  who  had  effected  his  capture.  Being 
asked  at  the  conclusion  of  the  documentary  reading,  whether 
what  he  had  heard  read  was  his  real  evidence,  he  asseverated 
with  a vulgar  imprecation  on  his  soul  that  it  was  true,  every 
word  of  it. 

“ And  you  spent  the  early  part  of  the  evening  at  the  Lion  Ta- 
vern in street  drinking  beer  with  Mr.  Costelloe  McMahon  V ’ 

“ I’  faith  I did,  your  honor’s  lordship,  and  if  any  noble  gentle- 
man here  wants  a can  of  prime  quality,  if  he  finds  not  the  beer 
in  that  same  Lion  Tavern  as  good  as  any  in  town,  let  him  call 
me  a liar — hie — hie!” 

“ A likely  story  truly,”  observed  Meredith  aside  to  Sir  Thomas 
Rotherham,  “ that  a gentleman  of  McMahon’s-  standing  made  a 
pot-companion  of  that  varlet.” 

Sir  Thomas  smiled  his  incredulity,  but  being  a friend  and  pro- 
tege of  Parsons,  thought  proper  to  wnake  a show  of  believing  the 
ridiculous  statement.  Prefacing  his  question  with  a small  judi- 
cial cough,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  witness : 

* The  Black  Dog  was  the  lowest  of  the  city  prisons  in  those  days,  its 
dungeon  corresponding  to  the  “Black  Hole”  of  modern  towns  and 
cities.  It  had  formerly  been  a castellated  private  mansion,  known  in 
Dublin  as  “Browne’s  Castle,”  and  being  subsequently  converted  into 
an  inn,  received  its  name  of  the  “ Black  Dog”  from  the  innkeeper’s 
sign  of  a mastiff  or  large  dog. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


63 


“And  you  came  up  to  Dublin,  Mr.  O’Conolly,  on  a written 
invitation  from  this  McMahon  to  meet  him,  Lord  Maguire,  and 
other  gentlemen  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  anent  this  treason- 
able plot!” 

“ I satd  not  that,  did  1 7 — (hiccup) — I wrote  to  Mr.  McMahon — ” 

“ Which  of  them — there  are  two  brothers,  you  know  7” 

“ I know — Joseph — Joseph  and — Tim — two — surely  there  is.” 

The  members  of  the  Council  looked  at  each  other,  and  Sir 
William  Parsons,  detecting  a smile  on  certain  of  their  visages, 
hastened  to  interpose : 

“You  mistake,  Mr.  O’Conolly, — I think  the  names  are  Costel- 
loe and  Art ” 

“ Surely,  my  lord,  surely — Costelloe  and  Art — it  be  all  the 
same ” 

“ Which  of  them  wrote  to  you  7” 

“ Cossloe,  I think — no,  it  was  the  other ” 

“ And  he  invited  you  to  go  to  his  house  on  this  business ” 

“ Just  so,  my  lord.” 

“ Nay,  Sir  William  Parsons,”  said  a nobleman  present,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time,  “it  is  sheer  folly  for  this  honorable  body 
to  sit  here  listening  to  such  evidence — the  man  is  drunk — that  is 
clear — he  knows  not  what  he  says,  and  I,  for  one,  do  protest 
against  receiving  his  information— until  such  time,  at  least,  as 
he  be  sober ” 

“Who  says  Pm  not  sober!”  cried  O’Conolly,  setting  his  arms 
a-kimbo. 

“ Silence,  good  fellow !”  said  the  clerk  of  the  Council. 

“ Remove  him !”  said  Sir  Robert  Meredith,  “ his  presence  here 
is  an  insult  to  the  Council.” 

“ Sir  Robert  Meredith ! you  shall  answer  for  this,”  said  Par- 
sons doggedly,  his  coarse  dark  features  swelling  with  rage  and 
vexation ; “ this  be  no  time  for  cavilling  at  the  evidence  of  loyal 
men ” 

“ I am  a loyal  man,”  broke  in  O’Conolly,  “ an’  your  lordship 
gives  me  a can  of  that  same  beer  I told  you  of,  I’ll  drink  confu- 
sion to  all  Popish— Popish  traitors  (hiccup !) — I will,  before  your 
eyes — hurrah ! — Parsons  and  Borlase  for  ever ! What  the  puck ! 
— this  head  of  mine  is  playing  the  d 1 with  me !— your  hand, 


64 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


old  fellow !” — and  making  a grab  at  something  to  hold  by,  he 
caught  Sir  William  Parsons  by  the  nose,  that  dignitary  of  the 
State  having  unluckily  approached  him  at  the  moment  for  pur- 
poses of  general  admonition.  A roar  of  laughter  from  his  breth- 
ren of  the  Council  exasperated  the  already  irritated  Justice,  but 
as  he  did  not  choose  to  make  an  open  show  of  resentment 
towards  the  real  offenders,  he  discharged  a portion,  at  least,  of 
his  venom  on  the  unlucky  witness,  ordering  him  to  be  placed  in 
close  confinement  until  the  effects  of  his  night’s  carousal  had 
passed  away  and  he  could  speak  like  a Christian  man. 

‘‘And  that’s  what  I’ll  do,  your  lordship  (hie! — hie!)— after  I 
get  a sleep.  I’ll  tell  you  all  as  true  as  the  Gospel,  and  we’ll  hang 
them  all,  Sir  William,  ay  ! every  mother’s  son  of  the  rascally  Pa- 
pists— I had  a brace  of  them  for  father  and  mother,  but  never 
mind  'that — I’m  all  right  myself— I am— that  is,  I will  be,  when 
I get  paid  for  this  job — liic ! hie ! hiccup !” 

In  the  midst  of  this  harangue,  the  witness  was  dragged  from 
the  presence,  vociferating  in  smothered  accents  his  staunch  ad- 
herence to  loyal  principles. 

Before  the  other  members  of  the  Council  had  succeeded  in 
smoothing  away  the  wrinkles  from  the  lowering  brow  of  Parsons, 
a violent  knocking  at  the  gate  without  gave  rise  to  serious  alarm 
amongst  the  deliberative  body.  Even  Borlase  awoke  with  a 
grunt,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

“ It  is  well  an’  the  rebels  be  not  upon  us,”  said  Parsons ; “ it 
were  a just  judgment  to  some  among  us,  an’  the  Lord  delivered 
us  unto  them ” 

The  door  opened,  and  a tall,  dark-visaged,  soldierly  man  made 
his  appearance,  wrapped  in  a military  riding-cloak.  Even  before 
his  keen  eye  had  run  over  all  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  pre- 
sent, a chorus  of  gratulation  welcomed  the  new-comer  as  Sir 
Francis  Willoughby,  all  the  way  from  Galway,  of  which  fort  he 
was  governor.  He  had  ridden  post-haste  to  Dublin  at  the  urgent 
request  of  Sir  William  Parsons,  to  assist  in  the  deliberations  of 
the  Council  on  this  momentous  occasion,  and  his  appearance  at 
that  juncture  was  most  welcome  to  the  Puritanical  members  of 
the  body,  for  his  military  experience  and  known  hatred  of  the  Pa- 
pists, together  with  much  real  or  supposed  ability,  gave  him  a 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


65 


certain  influence  in  their  councils.  Even  those  of  the  Council 
who  were  neither  friends  nor  admirers  of  Sir  Francis  Willoughby 
were,  on  the  present  occasion,  well  pleased  to  see  his  stern  visage 
rather  than  that  of  some  wild  Irish  chieftain,  with  eyes  of  fire, 
all  a- thirst  for  English  blood. 

“ In  the  foul  fiend’s  name,”  was  Willoughby’s  salutation ; “ what 
may  all  this  mean  1 — I am  summoned  to  town  with  all  dispatch, 
and  when  I get  to  town,  I find  every  gate  locked  and  double 
locked  against  me.” 

“ Not  against  you,  Sir  Francis  ! surely  not  against  you,”  said 
Parsons,  eagerly  advancing  with  a most  deprecatorycountenance. 

“ I tell  you  there  was  no  admission  for  any  one”  repeated  Sir 
Francis,  roughly;  “ after  much  parleying  with  your  halberdiers, 
through  the  key-hole,  I got  word  of  the  Council’s  whereabouts, 
and  betook  myself  hither  with  all  speed.  I pray  ye  inform  me, 
lords  and  gentlemen,  wherefore  all  this  commotion  1 — has  the 
city,  then,  lost  its  wits,  that  it  has  turned  itself  inside  out  V * 

“ Nay,  nay,  Sir  Francis ! be  not  wroth,”  said  Parsons  in  as 
soothing  a tone  as  he  could  command  ; “ the  Papists  are  up  in 
arms,  they  are  within  the  city  we  know  not  in  what  strength.-” 

“ And  the  honorable  Council  and  the  Lords  Justices  fearing  for 
their  precious  lives  have  locked  themselves  out — ha  ! ha  ! ha  !— 
i’  faith,  a good  joke ! — here  ye  be  in  an  unfortified  house  outside 
the  walls,  open  to  all  the  country  round,  and  the  enemy,  as  ye 
say,  left  in  snug  possession  of  the  premises  within — whoever  be- 
fore heard  of  men  locking  themselves  out  for  safety !”  And 
Sir  Francis,  albeit  little  given  to  mirth  or  merriment,  threw  him- 
self into  a chair  and  laughed  full  heartily,  regardless  of  the 
frowns  and  menacing  looks  of  his  brother  councillors,  who' 
winced  individually  beneath  his  biting  sarcasm. 

“ I rejoice,”  said  Meredith,  “to  see  the  gallant  Sir  Francis 
Willoughby  make  so  light  of  this  matter — methinks  it  is  over 
grave  for  jesting,  seeing  that  a leading  man  amongst  the  Papists 
is  already  in  custody,  and  other  arrests  are^iourly  looked  for.” 

“ I knew  nought  of  that,”  said  Willoughby,  “ but  this  I know, 
to  wit,  feat  from  Galway  hither  I have  seen  no  signs  of  this 
mighty  rebellion  whereof  ye  speak.  And  yet  methinks  if  there 
were  any  such  movement  on  foot  amongst  the  Irishry  that  coun- 


66 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


try  would  not  lie  still.  There  be  as  arrant  Popish  knaves  where 
I come  from,  ay  ! and  in  as  great  numbers,  as  you  would  find  in 
any  part  of  this  island.  An’  you  take  my  advice,  Sir  William 
Parsons,  you  will  move  back  to  our  old  quarters  bag  and  bag- 
gage ere  the  day  be  an  hour  older — for  our  own  credit  do  this 
that  our  name  and  authority  fall  not  into  disrepute  even  amongst 
those  who  be  well  disposed — first  of  all,  however,  I would  break 

my  fast,  an’  it  please  our  honorable  host ” 

“ Ay,  surely,”  cried  Borlase,  endeavoring  to  get  rid  of  the 
drowsy  god  by  a vigorous  shake  and  a most  energetic  yawn  ; “ ay, 
surely,  Sir  Francis,  men  do  assuredly  fight  better  and  talk  better 
when  the  stomach  is  in  good  condition,  to  wit,  well  supplied  with 
wholesome  food.  I never  prospered  on  anything  I took  in  hands 
fasting — ” he  had  just  reached  for  the  hand-bell  to  summon  the 
steward  of  the  house,  when  bang  at  the  outer  gate  came  a new 
series  of  knocks,  or  rather  blows,  as  of  heavy  sticks. 

“ There,”  said  Parsons,  addressing  Willoughby,  half  in  fear  half 
in  exultation,  “ what  think  you  of  that  1 — who  be  they  that  de- 
mand admission  in  such  fashion  as  that  V\ 

“ That  will  I tell  you  full  soon,”  replied  the  stout  soldier,  as  he 
made  for  the  door,  while  Meredith  and  Rotherham  approached 
one  of  the  high  narrow  windows  looking  on  the  small  court,  hop- 
ing to  discover  by  the  help  of  the  dawning  light  the  cause  of  this 
new  commotion. 

No  one  ventured,  however,  to  follow  Willoughby  to  the  hall, 
and  when,  after  a very  brief  absence,  he  again  entered  the  room, 
bis  fii'st  words  were  anything  but  satisfactory. 

“ The  rebels,  my  Lords  Justices  ! the  rebels  are  upon  us!” 

“ The  rebels! — how  say  you,  Sir  Francis'? — surely — surely 
they  have  not  attacked  the  house — why  it  would  not  stand  an 
hour’s  siege !” 

“ I know  that,  Sir  John — I know  it  full  well,  but  the  dwelling 
is  safe  for  this  time — I see  but  one  recusant  on  the  premises,  and 

he  is  in  good  hands ” 

“How'?— who 

“ Be  not  alarmed,  Sir  William — your  fellows  have  taken  another 
of  these  wasps — it  was  their  truncheons  that  battered  the  gates 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


67 


so  lustily  even  now — are  your  lordships  in  readiness  to  examine 
the  rascal,  whose  name  I know  not V* 

“ I say  nay,”  put  in  Borlase  quickly;  “let  him  e’en  cool  his 
heels  till  we  have  answered  the  demands  of  our  several  stomachs 
• — I’ll  warrant  him  not  over  anxious  for  the  meeting ■” 

This  proposition  was  unanimously  adopted,  and  the  morning 
meal  being  happily  announced  at  the  moment,  the  two  Lords 
Justices  and  the  five  Privy  Councillors  proceeded,  nothing  loath, 
to  the  discussion  of  the  good  things  awaiting  their  attention. 
This  important  affair  took  up  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  during 
which  time  the  Irish  chieftain,  the  descendant  of  a lordly  line, 
was  left  shivering  on  the  stone  bench  in  the  fireless  hall,  whose 
low  arched  roof  was  dripping  with  damp,  for  Sir  John  Borlase 
grudged  all  expense  which  had  not  his  own  comfort  for  its  im- 
mediate object,  and  hence  a fire  in  the  outer  hall  would  have 
been  a superfluity. 

It  were  hard  to  describe  the  feelings  of  the  prisoner  during 
that  dreary  time  of  expectation,  which,  however,  he  turned  to 
some  account,  for  when  at  length  he  was. summoned  to  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Council,  the  stone  walls  of  the  vacated  hall  were 
found  ornamented  in  strange  fashion.  Ghastly  visages  of  tortured 
men,  figures  dangling  from  gibbets,  and  other  such  quaint  and 
horrible  devices  were  sketched  on  either  side  with  a master  hand 
and  of  life  size.*  This  audacious  act  was  duly  stated  to  the  wor- 
shipful assembly  at  the  moment  when  Costelloe  McMahon,  was 
ushered  by  the  sheriff’s  officers  into  the  judicial  chamber.  Seven 
pairs  of  eyes  were  immediately  turned  on  him,  some  in  wrath, 
some  in  contempt,  some  in  mere  curiosity,  but  the  Tanist  of 
Uriel  shrank  not  from  the  darkest  scowl  of  all,  even  that  of  Sir 
William  Parsons. 

Drawing  his  short  cloak  around  him,  and  shaking  back  the 
long  curled  locks  from  about  his  face,  he  walked  to  the  foot  of 
the  Council-table  with  a step  as  light  and  as  proud  a mien  as 
though  he  trod  his  native  plains  at  the  head  of  his  martial  clan. 
His  clear  blue  eye  met  in  turn  the  searching  glance  of  each  of 

* This  fact  is  historically  true.  It  is  strikingly  illustrative  of  the 
bold  and  reckless  character  of  the  brave  but  unfortunate  McMahon. 


68 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


his  judges,  but  the  lid  never  drooped  for  a moment,  nor  did  the 
spirit-light  of  that  eye  grow  dim. 

“ Good  faith,  he  were  a gallant  leader  this,”  muttered  Wil- 
loughby to  himself,  as  his  soldier-glance  scanned  the  fair  propor- 
tions of  the  prisoner  and  marked  his  dauntless  bearing. 

“ What  is  this  I hear,  McMahon  V ’ said  Parsons  at  length,  as 
he  disposed  his  clumsy  members  in  the  chair  of  presidential  dig- 
nity at  the  upper  end  of  the  long  table  ; “ how  came  you  so  far 
to  forget  the  respect  due  to  this  house  as  to  disfigure  the  walls 
thereof  with  foul  daubing 

“ Ask  your  fellows,  rather,  how  it  came  that  they  did  not  see 
it  done — inethinks  it  was  for  them  to  keep  watch  on  my  evil 
propensities  3” 

“ So  please  your  lordships,”  cried  the  three  bailiffs  in  a breath, 
“ we  did  but  go  ini  o the  steward’s  room  near  by  to  warm  our 
hands,  the  which  weie  well  nigh  frozen  !” 

“ Even  so  it  was  with  mine,”  said  McMahon  carelessly  • “ I 
found  the  vault  over  cold  for  my  liking,  and  being,  moreover, 
left  to  my  own  wits  for  company,  I was  moved  to  exercise  my 
fingers  in  the  delineation  of  certain  pleasant  fancies  which  came 
into  my  head.” 

“ An’  the  churl  had  only  clothed  his  unsightly  criminals  after 
the  manner  of  his  own  barbarous  tribe,”  said  Borlase,  entering 
the  room,  after  a critical  inspection  of  the  obnoxious  images ; “I 
might  easier  overlook  the  injury  done  me,  but  as  I am  a living 
man  this  day,  they  are  clothed  in  decent  English  garb — ay ! 
every  one  of  them  !” 

While  some  of  the  Council  turned  aside  to  conceal  a smile, 
Parsons  again  fixed  his  scathing  glance  on  the  prisoner,  who  was 
smiling  too.  “ This  surely  heightens  the  offence,  McMahon ! 
The  meaning  of  this  bloody  riddle  we  can  all  of  us  see ” 

“ It  was  my  purpose  that  you  should  see  it,”  said  McMahon 
haughtily ; “ men  do  say  that  Sir  William  Parsons  is  not  over 
quick  of  comprehension,  but  he  were  duller  than  one  of  his  own 
donkeys  an’  he  could  not  read  so  plain  a lesson  I” 

A livid  hue  overspread  the  massive  features  of  the  Lord  J ustice, 
and  a gleam  of  lurid  fire — a single  gleam,  shot  from  his  eye,  as 
though  charged  with  the  lightning’s  destructive  power.  But  he 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


69 


was  not  the  man  to  give  way  to  violent  emotion,  at  least  in  out- 
ward show,  and  so  terribly  calm  was  the  tone  in  which  he  next 
addressed  the  prisoner — that  the  latter  looked  at  him  in  some 
surprise,  a surprise  which  was  not  shared  by  Parson’s  brethren  of 
the  Council  who  knew  the  man  better. 

“ It  is  well,  it  is  very  well,”  he  said  with  a sort  of  portentous 
smile,  “ you  have  shown  us  at  once  the  full  extent  of  your  malig- 
nity, and  thereby  saved  much  trouble.  You  appear  to  be  some- 
what plain  spoken,  and  may,  therefore,  throw  some  light  on  this 
matter,  to  wit,  the  traitorous  rising  up  of  the  Irishry  against  the 
King’s  majesty ” 

“ That  the  rising  will  take  place,  nay,  has  taken  place  in  many 
parts  of  this  Kingdom  of  Ireland,  I freely  admit,”  said  McMahon, 
calmly  ; “ that  it  is  against  the  King’s  majesty  I deny — and  I de- 
sire that  your  scribe  yonder  put  this  my  solemn  denial  on  record. 
If  his  highness  were  left  free  to  deal  with  his  Irish  subjects, 
according  to  his  own  royal  clemency  and  justice,  there  would  be 
no  discontent  among  us.” 

“ Most  like  not — an’  ye  had  your  way  in  all  things,  ye  might 
be  content  to  give  the  King  his.  His  grace  is  much  beholden  to 
you.  Pity  it  is,  though,  that  so  gracious  a sovereign  and  such 
loyal  subjects  should  so  little  understand  one  another.” 

“ It  well  becomes  Sir  William  Parsons  to  talk  in  that  fashion,” 
said  McMahon,  with  bitter  emphasis  ; “ none  knows  better  than 
he  the  causes  which  keep  our  liege  lord  and  his  faithful  Irish 
subjects  from  coming  to  an  amicable  agreement.  Your  lordship 
and  some  others  whom  we  wot  of  may  live  to  feel  that  wre  are 
over  loyal  for  your  liking,  though  you  speak  the  word  now  in 
scorn.  Our  lord  the  king,  likewise,  may  learn  all  too  soon — pray 
God  it  be  not  to  his  cost — that  treason  and  rebellion  lurk  full 
often  under  robes  of  state !” 

This  home-thrust  told  so  well  on  the  thick  hide  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam’s conscience  that  the  purple  tint  faded  from  his  dark  visage, 
and  was  replaced  by  an  ashy  paleness.  He  rose  from  his  seat, 
sat  down  again,  drew  a long  convulsive  breath,  then  coughed 
slightly  once  or  twice  as  though  to  clear  away  the  last  lingering 
remnant  of  emotion,  and  was  finally  about  to  address  the  prisoner, 


70 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


who  was  all  this  time  engaged  in  adjusting  his  girdle,  when  Wil- 
loughby stood  up : 

“ My  Lord  Justice,”  said  he,  “ I crave  your  pardon.  This  inso- 
lence exceeds  the  bounds  of  toleration.  We  cannot  allow  farther 
speech  before  this  Council  to  a man  who  can  so  far  forget  the 
respect  due  to  such  authority ” 

A scornful  laugh  from  McMahon  elicited  a dark  scowl  from 
Parsons  and  a fierce  threat  from  Willoughby.  Some  of  the  other 
members  urged  dispatch,  as,  from  certain  sounds  outside  the  house, 
they  had  reason  to  believe  that  either  some  other  prisoners  or  at 
least  fresh  intelligence  had  arrived. 

“Pray  God  it  be  not  Maguire!”  murmured  McMahon,  half 
audibly,  enlightened  by  a sudden  presentiment.  It  was  Maguire, 
and  before  any  further  question  could  be  put  to  his  friend  he  was 
brought  in  looking  as 

“ Ghastly,  pale,  and  wan 

As  he  who  saw  the  spectre-hound  in  Man.” 

And  yet  there  was  nothing  craven  or  cowardly  in  the  manner 
with  which  he  confronted  the  imposing  array  around  the  table. 
He  was  still  the  Irish  peer,  the  chieftain  of  Fermanagh,  looking 
down,  as  it  were,  on  his  upstart  judges  from  an  elevation  all  the 
greater  for  the  misfortune  which  had  placed  him  in  their  power. 
With  him  indeed  the  flesh  was  weak,  but  the  spirit  strong,  and 
so  McMahon  felt  as  their  eyes  met  in  melancholy  greeting. 

After  a short  whispered  consultation  amongst  the  councillors 
as  to  whether  the  prisoners  should  be  examined  apart  or  face  to 
face,  the  former  was  decided  on.  Lord  Maguire  was  removed  to 
an  adjoining  chamber  until  such  time  as  McMahon’s  examination 
was  brought  to  a close.  Again  the  friends  exchanged  glances. 

“ Courage,  Connor  !”  said  McMahon  in  Irish ; “ all  is  well  that 
ends  well !” 

“ True,  Costelloe,”  returned  the  peer  dejectedly ; “ but  this 
cannot  end  well ” 

“ Why  not,”  called  McMahon  after  him,  as  he  was  conveyed  to 
the  door ; “ what  can  they  do  but  take  our  lives,  and  surely  you 
would  not  shrink  from  a patriot’s  death ” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


71 


“ Silence,  prisoner!”  cried  a stern  voice  from  the  table  ; “ you 
presume  on  our  indulgence  !” 

A contemptuous  laugh  was  McMahon’s  answer,  as  Parsons 
rose  in  wrath  to  examine  him. 

“You  are  cognizant,  are  you  not,  of  a deep-laid  conspiracy 
amongst  certain  individuals  to  overturn  the  existing  government 
and ” 

“ To  destroy  rather  the  ferocious  and  tyrannical  reign  of  des- 
potism in  this  island ” 

“Note  well  his  answers!”  said  the  galled  Puritan  Justice  to 
the  Clerk  of  the  Council. 

“ Ay ! note  them  well,”  replied  the  prisoner ; “ put  them  down 
in  black  and  white ; they  will  soon  be  copied  in  my  blood  1” 
“Silence!” 

“ You  admit  a knowledge  of  this  traitorous  plot !” 

“ I admit  that  your  government  is  in  danger  !” 

“ And  you  were  a party  to  the  design  concerning  the  seizure  of 
the  Castle  ?” 

“ I was — I came  up  to  Dublin,  with  other  lords  and  gentlemen, 
with  intent  to  take  that  fortress  !” 

“ Be  so  good  as  to  name  some  of  these  lords  and  gentlemen  !” 
“ Not  one  of  them  will  I name  !” 

“We  can  force  you — there  be  persuasive  arguments  at  our 
command —ay ! arguments  to  overcome  even  your  contumacy  !” 

“ I deny  it,”  said  McMahon  firmly ; “I  know  the  arguments 
you  mean — the  rack,  the  thumbscrew,  and  other  such  appliances 
for  Popish  flesh  and  blood — you  may  use  them  on  me,  an’ 
welcome  — ” 

“ Sirrah  !”  cried  Willoughby,  starting  from  his  seat,  “ your  life 
is  forfeited  even  now ” 

“ I know  it,  sir ! — I scorn  to  give  back  your  scurvy  sirrah — 
I know  I stand  here  alone  and  helpless  in  the  power  of  those 
who  never  spared  or  pitied  one  of  my  race  or  creed — but,  never- 
theless, I pledge  ye  my  word  as  an  Irish  gentleman,  my  Lords 
Justices,  and  ye  of  the  Council,  that  not  one  drop  of  my 
blood  shall  fall  unrevenged — there  be  those  in  arms,  ay ! and  in 
; 'power , who  will  settle  the  score  with  ye  all !” 

Further  attempts  were  then  made  to  induce  McMahon  to 


72 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


impeach  some  of  his  “ fellow-conspirators,”  but  not  another  ques- 
tion would  he  answer,  and  some  of  the  Council  being  anxious  to 
get  rid  of  the  affair,  besought  that  this  contumacious  rebel  might 
be  remanded  for  further  examination,  and  the  other  prisoner 
brought  in  at  once. 

“ Keep  him  in  the  hall,”  said  Borlase,  “ till  the  other  is  dis- 
posed of.  Let  him  e’en  study  his  morning’s  work — but,  hark 
you,  Milman ! see  that  his  hands  be  made  fast — no  more  sketch- 
ing, an’  you  value  whole  bones !” 

Maguire’s  examination  occupied  but  little  time.  With  charac- 
teristic caution  and  timidity  he  persisted  in  denying  all  knowl- 
edge of  a conspiracy  against  the  government.  Unlike  McMa- 
hon he  neither  boasted  nor  threatened — he  knew  nothing,  and 
hence  could  tell  nothing,  or  criminate  any  one.  The  only  out- 
burst of  feeling  that  escaped  him  was  when  the  Lord  Chancellor 
Meredith,  on  the  part  of  the  Council  and  the  King’s  majesty,  held 
out  to  him  hopes  of  pardon  if  he  would  name  some  of  the  lords 
and  gentlemen  implicated  in  the  plot.  On  this,  the  blood  of  the 
Maguires  took  fire. 

“ Plot!”  cried  the  chieftain  indignantly ; “ I have  said  I know 
of  no  plot,  but  suppose  I did  know  that  all  the  chief  men  of  our 
persecuted  native  race,  and  all  the  tribes  who  look  up  to  them 
as  rulers,  were  resolved  no  longer  to  be  crushed  as  worms,  but 
to  cast  off,  come  what  may,  the  intolerable  burden  laid  upon 
them  for  their  destruction — suppose  I were  to  tell  you  that , 
which,  perchance,  your  wisdom  may  see  without  hint  of  mine 
— it  were  needless  to  name  any — all  being  of  the  same  mind. 
Work  your  will  on  the  children  of  the  soil  collectively,  for  assur- 
edly we  are  all  of  the  one  mind  in  regard  to  your  doings,  but 
that  is  all  I have  to  tell  you,  though  you  tore  me  to  pieces  on 
the  rack.” 

“ It  is  very  well,”  said  Parsons,  with  his  gloomy  smilo ; fC  sum- 
mon hither  the  Constable  of  the  Castle — I believe  he  is  in  attend- 
ance.” That  functionary  quickly  appeared,  and  to  him  were  de- 
livered the  two  prisoners,  with  a delicate  hint  from  the  Lord  Jus- 
tice that  it  might  be  necessary  hereafter  to  initiate  them  into  the 
mystic  rites  of  the  Star-chamber.  Maguire  changed  counten- 
ance on  hearing  this,  though  he  tried  to  force  a smile.  McMa- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


73 


hon  answered  with  a gesture  of  haughty  indifference  and  a care- 
less laugh. 

“ Do  you  affect  Irish  music,  Sir  William  V’  said  the  reckless 
Tanist  of  Uriel ; “if  so,  you  may  have  a serenade  full  soon  from 
the  pipes  and  clairseachs  of  Ulster.  I hear  them  even  now — far 
off  as  in  a dream — and  vengeance  breathes  in  every  tone !” 

“ Take  them  hence,”  cried  Parsons,  almost  speechless  with 
anger,  and  the  prisoners  were  accordingly  conveyed  to  the  dun- 
geons of  that  Castle  which  in  a few  hours  was  to  have  been  their 
own. 

4a 


74 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

“ What  I do  next,  shall  be,  to  tell  the  king  of  this  escape,  and  whither 
they  are  bound.”  Shakspeare’s  Winter's  Talc. 

11  As  spiders  never  seek  the  fly, 

But  leave  him  of  himself  t’  apply, 

So  men  are  by  themselves  employ’d 
To  quit  the  freedom  they  enjoy’d, 

And  run  their  necks  into  a noose, 

They’d  break  ’em  after  to  get  loose.” 

Butler’s  Hudibras. 

Half  an  hour  or  so  after  Lord  Maguire  and  his  friend  were 
committed  to  the  Castle-prison,  a small  wherry  might  have  been 
seen,  floating  idly  down  the  Liffey’s  turbid  stream,  not  far  from  the 
Old  Bridge.  Its  only  occupant  was  a lubberly  boy  of  that  amphi- 
bious class,  midway  between  the  seaman  and  the  landsman,  then 
as  now  to  be  found  about  the  water  side  in  sea-port  towns,  well 
content  to  do  nothing,  yet  able  to  take  a hand  on  either  element 
at  any  species  of  work  which  required  only  bone  and  sinew.  His 
bullet  eyes  were  gazing  listlessly  on  a crowd  of  persons  assembled 
at  the  corner  of  Bridge  street,  around  an  officially-clad  personage, 
who  was  reading  aloud  from  a manuscript  document  in  his  hand. 
Stolid  as  the  youth  was  he  could  not  but  perceive  that  some 
unusual  bustle  was  going  forward.  All  along  the  quay,  and  in 
the  various  streets  opening  on  it  from  the  city,  men  were  hur- 
rying to  and  fro,  exchanging  significant  words  as  they  passed 
each  other,  as  if  all  were  bent  on  a common  object. 

“ I’m  thinking  there’s  some  news  abroad  this  morning,”  said 
Perry  to  himself,  but  without  any  troublesome  feeling  of  curiosity, 
“ an’  it  were  not  that  master  bade  me  keep  the  boat  here  about 
the  bridgo-foot  till  I’d  light  on  a fare,  I’d  bo  ashore  before 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


75 


this  to  see  what’s  in  the  wind.  Hillo,  master ! — do  you  want 
a boat?” 

This  was  in  answer  to  a signal  made  him  by  a sailor  on  the 
bridge-steps.  Another  sign  in  the  affirmative  brought  the  boat 
close  alongside,  and  the  sailor  jumping  in,  stretched  himself  with 
a lazy  yawn  on  a bench  in  the  stern.  In  answer  to  the  boy’s 
question,  as  to  where  he  wished  to  be  rowed  to,  the  sailor,  with  a 
drunken  hiccup,  pointed  to  some  three  or  four  of  his  fellows  who 
had  joined  the  crowd  on  the  quay  and  seemed  listening  intently 
to  the  reading  aforesaid. 

“ Hang  the  lubberly  knaves,  what  an  itching  they  have  for 
news !”  grunted  their  comrade  in  the  boat ; “ we  have  got  but 
this  one  day  a-shore,  and  they  e’en  clip  it  shorter  than  it  be — (hic- 
cup !) — hearkening  to  some  fal-de-ral  not  worth  a brass  farthing. 
Hark  you,  Watty !”  raising  his  voice  to  the  utmost,  “ what  the 
plague’s  got  into  your  noddle 

His  voice  appeared  to  set  Watty  and  his  mates  in  motion,  for 
they  instantly  detached  themselves  from  the  crowd  and  walked 
towards  the  boat  with  that  shuffiing  gait  peculiar  to  their  craft. 
They  were  all  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and 
laughed  uproariously  at  the  angry  rebuke  of  their  companion. 

“ Time  enough,  Bill ! time  enough,”  cried,  one  of  the  last  arri- 
vals; “ your  old  dame’s  porridge  will  keep  hot,  never  fear !” 

“ But,  what — what  the  puck  made  you  stand  there  gaping'?” 

“We  were  a-listening  not  a-gaping,  Bill!”  said  the  man  ad- 
dressed as  Watty;  “yonder  fellow  is  reading  what  they  call  a 
proclamation,  so  as  we  never  chanced  to  hear  the  like  before, 
Launcelot  and  the  rest  of  us  had  a mind  to  listen.” 

“ A proc , what  did  you  say  it  was  '?”  demanded  Bill. 

“ A proc-la-ma-tion  ! do  you  hear  it  now '?” 

“ Ay,  marry,  do  I — (hiccup !) — but  I be  nothing  the  wiser  for 

the  hearing.  What  is  it  like,  that  proc , hang  the  word ! — ”(hic 

— hiccup !) 

“ Hang  your  scurvy  memory,”  retorted  Watty,  with  a hoarse 
laugh ; “ the  word  is  well  enough.  An’  you  want  to  know  what 
it’s  all  about,  why,  it’s  a chance  for  somebody  to  win  five  hun- 
dred gold  marks  by  delivering  up  to  justice  one  Roger  O’Moore, 
a certain  wild  Irishman  who,  it  seems,  has  been  raising  the  old 


76 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


d — I in  these  parts.  An’  the  fellow  is  only  half  as  bad  as  they 
make  him  out,  his  whole  carcass  be  not  worth  the  money,  though 
any  one  who  brings  in  his  head  will  get  it.  Strike  me  dumb  if 
these  great  folks  on  shore  be  not  greater  fools  than  any  we  have 
on  sea ! — pull  out  now,  my  lad,  we’ll  lend  a hand  an’  you  give  us 
oars! — up,  Bill,  up — take  an  oar,  you  lubber!  or  the  dame’s 
cookery  may  go  for  nought !”  Bill’s  intoxication  did  not  prevent 
him  from  both  taking  and  using  the  oar,  which  he  did,  however, 
so  awkwardly  that  Perry  grinned  from  ear  to  ear  as  he  in- 
quired : “ Where  to,  master  V ' 

“Up  the  river  a piece— we’ll  show  you  where  to  stop.  Bo 
alive  now  and  you  shall  have  a trifle  to  drink  our  health  over  and 
above  your  fare !” 

Before  the  lad  could  turn  his  boat’s  prow  up  the  stream,  he 
was  hailed  by  another  voice  from  the  shore — “Where  is  that 
boat  bound  for  V* 

“ Can’t  say,  master !”  and  Perry  shook  his  head  with  a puzzled 
air. 

“ Can't  sat/,  you  blockhead,”  cried  the  other  angrily ; “ I’ll 
teach  you  to  say,  an’  I come  within  reach.  Are  you  going  up  or 
down,  sirrah  V' 

“ Up  !”  said  the  boy  very  gruffly,  muttering  to  himself,  at  the 
same  time:  “You  may  go  seek  a passage  for  all  Perry  cares, 
my  fine  gentleman !” 

“ Stop,  stop,  that’s  my  way,  too  !”  shouted  the  stranger ; “ stop, 
I command  you !” 

But  this  was  not  so  easy  done,  had  Perry  been  ever  so  well  in- 
clined, for  the  sinewy  arms  of  the  four  sailors  had  been  speeding 
the  boat  with  all  their  might,  and  the  little  craft  was  already  some 
distance  from  the  shore  skimming  the  water  with  amazing  swift- 
ness for  the  lumbering  thing  she  appeared  to  be.  The  boy 
grumbled  somewhat  about  losing  another  fare,  but  his  good 
humor  was  quickly  restored  when  Watty  assured  him,  on  the 
part  of  himself  and  his  mates,  that  he  should-  be  no  loser  on  the 
occasion. 

“ Ay  ! but  he’ll  have  a grudge  against  me  on  account  of  it,” 
said  Perry ; “ that’s  Sheriff  Woodcock,  and  a dark  man  thoy  say 
he  is !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


77 


“ Sheriff  Woodcock  !”  repeated  one  of  the  sailors  carelessly; 
“ Lord ! who’d  have  thought  it.  He’s  as  arrant  a churl  as  ever  I 
laid  my  eyes  on  !” 

“ Take  your  time  now,  lads !”  said  Bill  in  an  under  tone,  “ no 
hurry — you  understand  'l  till  the  worshipful  is  out  of  sight !” 
and  thereupon  Bill  raised  his  voice  to  its  highest  pitch,  and  sang, 
as  the  boat  moved  slowly  up  the  stream,  a verse  of  a street-ballad 
then  much  in  vogue  amongst  the  anti-Irish  population  of  the 
metropolis : 

“ Proud  and  poor, 

* Lank  and  lean, 

With  matted  locks, 

And  face  unclean, 

Owner  of  a pike  and  skene — 

Here’s  your  native  Celt,  0 !” 

“ Pike  and  skene  !”  he  muttered,  exchanging  a fierce  look  with 
his  comrade  opposite  ; “ better  that  than  nothing !”  Aloud  ho 
repeated  once  again:  “ Here’s  your  native  Celt,  $ !” 

“ All  is  right  in  that  quarter,”  said  the  sheriff  on  the  quay ; 
“ there  can  be  no  deception  in  the  good  will  with  which  the  fel- 
low gives  that  out,  and  no  man  of  the  Irishry  would  sing  it.” 

“ 1 think  your  worship  is  well  shot  of  such  company,”  spoke  a 
shrill  voice  at  his  side,  and  turning  quickly  the  official  personage 
encountered  the  flabby  face  of  his  subordinate  John  Steeples  • 
“ the  fellows  are  as  drunk  as  swine ! Let  them  e’en  go  their 
way — though  they  be  loyal,  too,  as  my  ears  tell  me — howsom- 
ever,  worshipful  sir,  an’  you’ll  step  this  way,  I have  a word  for 
your  particular  hearing.  I pray  you  heed  not  the  boat,  good 
master ! for  though  the  song  be  not  bad,  and  so  well  sung  that  I 
could  share  a can  of  beer  with  the  singer,  an’  I had  him  near  me 
at  a leisure  hour,  still  the  hearing  of  it  will  put  no  gold  in  your 
worship’s  pocket,  nor  would  the  sail  to  Island  Bridge,  for  that 
matter,  but  an’  you’ll  come  with  me  to  a private  place,  I can  tell 
you  something  that  may  fill  every  pocket  you  have  with  gold 
pieces !” 

Anxious  to  hear  this  lucrative  secret,  the  sheriff*  followed  his 
familiar  to  a small  house  in  Winetavern  street,  where  John  had 


78 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


a back  room  at  command.  “ You  know,  John,”  said  tlie  em- 
ployer, with  a very  serious  face,  as  he  took  his  seat  near  the 
blazing  hearth;  “you  know,  John,  gold  is  nothing  to  me — 
nothing — but  the  duties  of  mine  office  are — I need  not  tell  you, 
John — are — everything  !” 

61 1 know  it,  your  worship ! I do  know  it,”  quoth  John,  with  a 
look  which  he  intended  to  convey  honest  conviction ; “ hence  it  is 
that  I am  so  urgent  in  this  matter.”  Then  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  he  stepped  over  on  tip-toe,  and  stretching  out  his  short 
neck  till  his  face  almost  touched  the  grave  official  countenance : 
“ I have  found  out  the  chief  plotter  in  this  rebellion!” 

e‘  What — whom  do  you  mean,'?”  cried  the  sheriff  with  a start. 

“ I mean  Roger  O' Moore  /”  said  John,  drawing  himself  up  with 
an  air  of  superlative  exultation. 

“You  do,  John!”  and  the  sheriff  started  to  his  feet;  “you 
know  where  to  lay  your  hand  on  him  '?” 

“ Of  a surety,  I do !” 

“ Then,  my  dear  John,  give  me  your  hand  ! — fifty  of  the  gold 
marks  shall  be  yours — for  the  rest,  you  know,  I care  nothing, 
but  the  credit  of  the  thing,  John  ! — that  is  what  I prize  the  most 
— with  Maguire  and  McMahon  in  custody,  and  now  the  arch- 
traitor, O’Moore — why,  man  it  will  make  our  fortune — let’s  go, 
now,  my  trusty  and  right  faithful  John  !” 

Taking  with  them  a trio  of  stout  constables  whom  they  met 
on  the  way,  they  went  accordingly  to  the  dwelling  of  Patrick 
Moore,  merchant,  in  the  upper  part  of  what  is  now  Lower  Bridge 
street,  where  undoubtedly  Rory  O’ Moore  had  been  wont  to  lodge, 
for  it  was  the  identical  house  wherein  we  first  found  that  chieftain 
entertaining  his  friends.  Unluckily  for  Sheriff  Woodcock’s  pro- 
fessional glory,  though  the  cage  was  there,  the  bird  was  flown. 
Master  Patrick  Moore,  being  informed  of  the  object  of  their 
search,  politely  expressed  his  regret  that  they  had  not  come  a 
few  hours  earlier. 

“ How  so  1”  asked  the  sheriff,  with  a sad  misgiving  smiting  his 
heart. 

“ Why,  because,  worshipful  sir,”  said  the  urbane  man  of  com- 
merce, “ Mr.  O’ Moore  left  his  lodgings  here  before  daylight  this 
morning — to  my  sorrow,  I needs  must  say,  for  he  is  a man  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


79 


princely  generosity  and  thinks  no  more  of  money  than  he  does  of 
the  sand  on  the  floor.  I crave  your  pardon,  honored  sir,  for  mak- 
ing free  to  speak  of  my  own  affairs  in  your  presence,  but  the  loss 
of  a good  lodger  whom  one  has  had  on  his  floor,  off  and  on  for 
three  years,  is  something  not  easy  to  get  over.  You  can  walk  up 
stairs,  gentlemen — assuredly  !”  seeing  some  of  the  constables  in 
the  act  of  ascending. 

As  for  the  sheriff,  he  saw  all  too  clearly  that  the  man  spoke  in 
the  best  of  faith,  and  with  a groan  that  came  from  the  region  of 
his  bowels,  he  called  to  John  Steeples,  who  was  already  near  the 
top  of  the  narrow  stairway,  that  he  thought  it  were  but  losing 
time  to  search  the  house. 

“No  matter  for  that,  your  worship,”  cried  John  from  above, 
“ I’m  determined  to  see  it  out— it’s  something  I can’t  stand  to  be 
tricked  by  a scurvy  Irishman,  and  I won't  be  either,  an’  I can 
help  it.  I’ll  have  him  out,  an’  he’s  in  the  house,  though  I ripped 
open  every  bed  in  it.  I’ll  not  leave  a hole  where  a mouse  could 
hide,  but  I’ll  know  what's  in  it ! An’  your  worship  has  a mind 
to  go  elsewhere,  we  can  e’en  see  this  matter  out — myself  and 
these  good  fellows.” 

“ And  if  so  be  you  find  him,  John  ! you  will  bear  in  mind  that 
you  act  for  me — will  you  not  V ’ 

“ Of  a surety,  sir,  I will — make  your  mind  easy  on  that  head !” 

With  a very  polite  obeisance,  Master  Moore  let  the  sheriff  out, 
and  with  slow  and  heavy  step  that  interesting  specimen  of  the 
ornithological  tribe  took  his  way  to  the  Castle,  where  the  Lords 
Justices,  and  their  privileged  advisers,  were  by  this  time  re- 
established for  dispatch  of  business.  Before  we  enter  with 
his  worship  those  gloomy  portals  so  justly  dreaded  by  the 
natives  of  the  country,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  have  another 
peep  at  John  Steeples  as  he  steps  on  tip-toe  into  the  apparently 
deserted  sitting-room  of  Rory  O’Moore. 

John  appeared  to  have  a good  understanding  with  the  other 
members  of  the  search-committee,  for  the  street-door  had  no 
sooner  closed  after  their  common  employer,  than  that  worthy, 
hearing  Master  Moore’s  step  on  the  stairs,  hastened  to  prevent 
his  entrance  by  double  locking  the  room-door,  which  having 
done,  he  tipped  a sly  wink  at  each  of  his  companions,  and  smiled 


80 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


a grim  smile,  and  nodded  his  head  in  a way  peculiar  to  himself, 
but  well  understood,  it  would  seem,  by  those  for  whom  the  gesture 
was  meant. 

“ Sit  down  now,  my  mates,  and  make  yourselves  at  home  for 
a brief  space,”  said  the  fat  constable,  in  an  easy  confidential  tone, 
having  first  taken  care  to  stuff  the  key-hole ; “or  perchance  it 
were  the  better  thing  for  you  to  make  some  noise  in  the  way  of 
knocking  things  about,  even  as  though  we  were  searching  with 
all  our  might.” 

Having  set  his  comrades  to  work  pulling  furniture  hither  and 
thither  in  the  noisiest  manner  possible,  John  approached  an  alcove 
in  the  sitting-room,  saying  with  a most  complacent  air : “ If  so  be 
we  find  not  Roger  O’ Moore,  we  may  find  somewhat  in  the  shape 
of  a cordial  for  our  empty  stomachs  this  cold  morning.  These 
Irish  gentlemen,  to  give  the  devil  his  due,  are  most  excellent 
judges  of  liquor,  and  I warrant  me  this  same  { arch-rebel,’  as 
they  call  him,  is  not  without  good  store  of  it  in  his  cupboard  !” 

This  hint  was  not  lost  on  his  companions,  and,  amid  the 
arduous  and  laudable  employment  at  which  John  had  placed 
them,  many  a wistful  look  was  cast  towards  the  deep  recess  into 
which  that  ingenious  personage  had  dived.  Hopes  were  raised 
to  the  highest  pitch  as  flask  after  flask  was  drawn  forth,  to  the 
number  of  half  a dozen,  some  of  them  labelled  with  foreign 
names  which  no  one  there  could  decipher.  These  being  duly 
ranged  on  the  table,  together  with  a few  goblets,  at  a signal 
from  John  the  whole  party  gathered  around  like  so  many  cormo- 
rants over  their  prey,  their  frost-pinched  noses  and  blue  cold  lips, 
indicating  the  need  they  had  of  some  warming  draught. 

“ Here’s  the  real  usquebaugh,”  said  John,  taking  up  a stone 
flask,  and  proceeding,  as  he  thought,  to  pour  out  some  of  its  pre- 
cious contents  ; “ there  be  nothing  like  it,  they  do  say,  for  keep- 
ing out  the  cold.”  Alas ! the  cruel  usquebaugh  refused  to  come, 
the  still  more  cruel  rebels  had  not  left  one  solitary  drop.  This 
first  disappointment  was  bitter,  but  still  hope  remained.  There 
were  others  to  be  tried,  and  some  of  them  must  needs  be  full, 
they  were  so  heavy.  With  convulsive  eagerness,  and  impreca- 
tions not  a few,  one  after  one  was  tried  and  found  wanting — their 
weight  was  deceitful — they  were  all  empty  as  the  prophet’s  gourd, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


81 


and  with  a vengeful  oath  John  Steeples  flung  the  last  on  the 
stone  hearth,  and  shivered  it  into  a thousand  fragments,  amid 
a chorus  of  shouts  from  his  companions,  some  angry,  some 
derisive. 

“ May  the  foul  fiend  fly  away  with  them,  boat,  and  all !”  cried 
honest  John ; “ an’  I thought  he  would  play  such  a scurvy  trick 
as  to  leave  his  cupboard  in  this  wise,  Sheriff  Woodcock  might 
have  had  his  five  hundred  marks  by  this  time.” 

“ How  is  that,  John  7”  asked  one  of  the  listeners,  but  John  all 
at  once  remembered  that  in  his  anger  he  was  committing  himself, 
so  he  made  an  evasive  answer,  and  wisely  kept  to  himself  the  fact 
that  he  had  bargained  with  a certain  Master  Dillon,  (to  wit,  Sir 
James  of  that  name,)  to  connive  at  O’Moore’s  escape,  he  being 
found  cognizant  of  his  whereabouts.  The  trusty  follower  of  She- 
riff Woodcock  well  knowing  that  in  case  he  delivered  the  rebel 
chief  to  justice,  his  employer  would  contrive  to  pocket  the  lion’s 
share  of  the  reward,  thought  it  more  to  his  real  advantage  to 
pocket  the  sum  offered  by  Sir  James  Dillon,  and  let  the  sheriff, 
look  after  his  own  interest.  If  truth  must  be  told,  too,  he  had  a 
trifling  grudge  against  the  same  gentleman,  for  and  on  account 
of  certain  former  transactions  wherein  John  had  been  the  dupe 
of  his  master’s  superior  cunning.  Hence  John’s  timely  appear- 
ance on  the  quay,  and  the  pains  he  had  taken  to  draw  off  the 
sheriff’s  attention  from  the  boat  which,  having  said  so  much,  it 
is  needless  to  say,  contained  Rory  O’Moore,  Colonels  Plunket  dnd 
Byrne,  with  the  friend  who  had  engaged  the  boat,  and  otherwise 
provided  for  their  escape. 

Having  demolished  the  principal  articles  of  furniture  within  the 
rooms,  by  way  of  venting  their  disappointment,  the  jackals  of  the 
law,  thinking  it  time  to  evacuate  the  premises,  made  to  open  the 
door,  taking  it  for  granted  that  they  had  nothing  to  do  but 
walk  down  stairs.  Here,  however,  another  and  still  worse  dis- 
appointment awaited  them : the  door  was  locked  and  also  fas- 
tened on  the  outside,  the  bailiffs  and  constables  were  caught  in 
a trap  of  their  own  making.  Threats  and  promises  were  alter- 
nately addressed  by  the  chafed  and  angry  captives  to  Master  Moore 
or  some  other  imaginary  personage  without,  but  no  word  or  sound 
could  their  straining  ears  hear  in  reply — all  within  was  noise  and 
4* 


82 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


clamor,  all  without  silent  as  the  grave.  Hungry  and  cold  as  the 
prisoners  were,  the  keenest  pangs  of  their  misery  arose  from  the 
recollection  of  the  rich  harvest  to  be  reaped  that  day  in  the  city — 
a harvest  on  which  each  of  them  had  been  building  all  manner  of 
speculations.  Every  expedient  that  ingenuity  could  suggest  was 
tried  on  the  door,  and  at  length  the  lock  yielded  to  the  skill  and 
perseverance  brought  to  bear  on  it.  Alas  ! freedom  was  as  far 
off  as  ever — the  outward  fastening  still  remained.  Hope  at  length 
vanished,  and  as  grim  despair  began  to  take  its  place,  the  gen- 
eral excitement  amounted  almost  to  frenzy,  discharging  itself  in 
a torrent  of  angry  abuse  on  the  conscious  head  of  John  Steeples, 
whom  his  worthy  associates  accused  as  the  sole  cause  of  their 
misfortune.  John  defended  himself  as  best  he  might,  alleging 
that  what  he  had  done  was  with  a view  to  the  common  good,  and 
that  no  one  could  charge  him  with  selfish  motives.  If  jars  and 
flasks  were  found  empty,  when  they  ought  in  all  reason  and  in 
fair  play  to  have  been  full,  surely  no  one  could  blame  him , in- 
asmuch as  he  was  himself  a joint  sufferer  with  the  rest.  His 
rhetoric  was,  however,  thrown  away — hunger,  and  cold,  and  thirst 
— yea,  even  the  thirst  for  gold  were  all  clamoring  fiercely  against 
him,  and  as  time  passed  brows  scowled  darker  and  words  came 
forth  fiercer  and  more  ominous,  till,  at  last,  John  Steeples’  pro- 
fessional hardihood  failed  him,  and  he  began  to  shiver  with  bodily 
terror,  when  affairs  took  a turn  as  lucky  as  unexpected.  In  a 
fit  of  desperation  John’s  fellow-prisoners  made  a combined  attack 
on  the  door,  rushed  against  it  with  all  their  might,  and  went  head 
foremost  into  the  corridor  without,  one  over  the  other  in  ludicrous 
confusion,  while  the  whole  venerable  fabric  shook  with  the  force  of 
their  fall,  and  a' pea!  of  distant  laughter  echoing  from  room  to 
room  proved,  with  provoking  clearness,  that  the  mishap  was  not 
the  work  of  chance.  Stunned  and  bruised  as  they  were  from 
their  fall,  and  mortified  beyond  endurance  at  the  trick  which  had 
been  put  upon  them,  still  the  sense  of  recovered  liberty  was  para- 
mount over  all,  and  as  John  Steeples,  with  most  meritorious 
gravity,  assisted  them  in  turn  to  regain  the  perpendicular,  there 
was  less  of  anger  than  of  sheepish  embarrassment  in  the  general 
expression  of  their  faces.  Vengeance  they,  indeed,  vowed  against 
the  Moores,  young  and  old,  kith  and  kin ; but  the  desire  of  car- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  83 

rying  it  out  was,  for  the  time,  subordinate  to  the  corporal  wants 
before  alluded  to,  and  the  no  less  craving  longing  for  a share  of 
the  government  gold,  likely  to  be  flung  that  day  with  a liberal 
hand  amongst  their  honored  fraternity.  Great  in  proportion  to 
the  peril  from  which  he  believed  himself  to  have  escaped,  was 
the  joy  of  John  Steeples  when  he  trundled  down  stairs  in  the  rear 
of  his  company,  free  to  seek  his  morning  meal  at  the  nearest 
eating-house,  and  free,  too,  from  the  bodily  fear  which  had  been 
Dozing  in  cold  sweat  from  every  pore. 

Meanwhile  all  was  confusion  amongst  the  high  functionaries  of 
the  realm.  Entirely  ignorant  as  to  the  actual  extent  of  the  re- 
bellion, fear  magnified  it  into  universal,  and,  in  the  absence  of  all 
reliable  information,  the  very  worst  was  apprehended.  It  was 
something,  to  be  sure,  that  the  design  on  the  Castle  had  been 
frustrated,  (for  the  hour  appointed,  according  to  O’Conolly,  for 
the  attack,  was  now  past,  without  any  appearance  of  insurrection 
within  the  walls,)  yet  that  afforded  but  small  consolation  when 
there  was  no  knowing  what  moment  the  rebels  might  come,  in 
overwhelming  numbers,  to  invest  the  city.  Several  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Council  had  made  their  appearance,  including  two  of 
the  episcopal  body  by  law  established.  A proclamation  was  pre- 
pared, announcing  to  the  country,  in  exaggerated  terms,  the 
wicked  plot  which  had  been  so  happily  frustrated,  together  with 
the  capture  of  some  of  the  chief  conspirators.  Couriers  were 
sent  with  this  document  to  all  the  principal  lords  and  gentlemen 
throughout  the  provinces,  requesting  that  all  possible  publicity 
might  be  given  to  it,  and  this  with  a view  to  discourage  and  pre- 
vent any  further  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  Irish.  The  city  was 
all  bustle  and  excitement,  confined,  however,  to  the  officials  and 
hangers-on  of  the  government,  for,  whether  it  was  that  timely 
warning  had  been  sent  over  night  to  the  different  parties  who 
were  to  have  combined  for  the  attack  on  the  Castle,  or  that  the 
arrest  of  Maguire  and  McMahon  was  told  them  before  they  en- 
tered the  city,  it  is  certain  that  they  were  all  invisible  during  the 
day,  even  to  the  lynx-eyed  cormorants  of  the  law. 

As  the  day  approached  its  meridian,  and  yet  nothing  heard  of 
the  rebels,  the  vague  terrors  of  the  night  and  of  the  morning 
began  to  clear  away  somewhat,  and  by  the  time  Sheriff  Woodcock 


84 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


made  his  bow  before  that  august  body — the  zodiac  of  his  solar 
system — announcing  the  continued  quiet  of  the  city  and  its 
neighborhood,  the  Council,  and  even  the  Lords  Justices,  waxed 
quite  facetious,  and  many  a dull  grave  jest  was  bandied  about 
at  the  expense  of  “ the  beggarly  Irishry,”  who,  as  Parsons 
jocosely  observed,  “ had  not  mettle  enough  in  them  to  raise  a 
stir  that  might  perchance  give  honest  men  their  own.” 

“ But  what  of  O’Moore,  Master  Sheriff' 1”  demanded  the  Bishop 
of  Meath. 

“ No  word  of  him  yet,  my  reverend  lord,”  returned  the  obse- 
quious official,  carefully  keeping  his  morning’s  adventure  out  of 
sight;  “ I warrant  me  has  e’en  betaken  himself  out  of  our  reach 
in  time ” 

“ Ay,  marry,”  put  in  Parsons,  “ they  say  he  is  cunning  as  a 
fox,  and  can  shift  himself  out  of  difficulty  let  who  may  get  the 
worst  of  it.” 

“ I am  well  acquainted  with  his  prudence  and  sagacity,”  ob- 
served the  prelate,  and  he  shook  his  head  with  a very  serious 
air  ; “ hence  it  is  that  I am  ill  at  ease  so  long  as  he  remains  at 
large.  I would,  for  the  peace  of  the  country,  he  were  in  as  safe 
keeping  as  the  other  two.” 

“ Caged,  eh  V*  cried  Willoughby  from  an  arm-chair  in  a remote 
corner ; “all  in  good  time,  my  Lord  of  Meath ! We'll  have 
them  all  time  enough  for  the  plucking — what  say  you,  Sir  Wil- 
liam? There  be  scores  of  the  Popish  fowl  better  worth  than 
this  gallows-bird,  O'Moore,  who,  as  I hear,  is  bare  as  a picked 
bone — let  him  e’en  go,  he  will  bring  others  into  the  nest  whose 
feathers  will  make  soft  pillows — ha ! ha !” 

This  demoniacal  hint  was  sharply  rebuked  by  one  of  the  bishops, 
•while  Parsons  himself  thought  it  decorous  to  reprimand  his 
friend,  accompanying  the  words,  nevertheless,  with  a side  glance, 
which  more  than  contradicted  their  meaning. 

Willoughby  laughed  in  his  usual  boisterous  way,  saying : “ I 
knew  not  that  any  here  were  so  squeamish  as  regards  a joke 
—however,  an’  ye  do  not  relish  mine  we  can  e’en  let  it  pass ” 

His  discordant  laugh  had  not  yet  died  away  amongst  the  arches 
of  the  old  oaken  roof,  when  the  Council  was  again  thrown  into 
perturbation  by  the  arrival  of  Lord  Blayney,  who,  travel-stained 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


85 


and  weary  from  his  long  night’s  ride,  suddenly  appeared  before 
the  assembled  lords  in  that  same  room,  so  memorable  in  Irish 
story,  where  half  a century  before 

“Silken  Thomas  flung 

King  Henry’s  sword  on  Council-board  the  English  thanes  among.” 

To  the  hurried  and  anxious  question  of  “ What  news  from  the 
north'?”  simultaneously  put  by  several  voices,  Lord  Blayney  re- 
plied in  tremulous  accents : 

“ The  worst  that  could  be  brought — all  Ulster  is  up  in  arms 
under  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  O’Reilly,  McMahon,  and  other  chiefs  " 
of  note.” 

“ Merciful  Heaven  !”  cried  Sir  Robert  Meredith,  “ are  you  sure 
of  this,  my  lord '?” 

“ Sure  of  it,  Sir  Robert!”  answered  Blayney  with  some  indig- 
nation ; “ think  you  I would  travel  from  Castle  Blayney  hither  on 
an  idle  rumor  'l  Am  I sure  of  it ! when  all  I hold  dearest — wife, 
children — all — are  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the  fierce  McMahons. 
God  only  knows  if  they  be  not  butchered  ere  now  !” 

“ And  your  Castle  V’  asked  Parsons  eagerly. 

“ My  Castle,  too,  is  in  their  possession — oh ! that  I live  to 
tell  it !” 

Lord  Blaney’s  evil  tidings,  if  the  first,  were  not  the  last  of  that 
eventful  day.  Towards  evening,  the  Council  was  brought  to- 
gether again  by  a message  from  Sir  Arthur  Tyringham,  governor 
of  Newry,  to  the  effect  that  the  garrison  had  been  taken  by  the 
Magennises,  together  with  a large  quantity  of  military  stores — 
the  latter  was  deemed  even  the  greater  loss,  inasmuch  as  it  fur- 
nished the  rebels  with  what  they  most  wanted,  and,  moreover, 
what  the  government  could  but  ill  spare  at  the  time. 

The  courier  from  Newry  was  quickly  followed  by  another 
from  Dungannon,  announcing  the  capture  of  that  fort  by  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill. 

“ What ! Dungannon  taken,  too  1”  cried  Willoughby. 

“Yea,  my  lord!”  replied  the  soldier  who  had  brought  the 
news;  “ but  that  is  not  all — Charlemont  is  likewise  in  the  hands 
of  the  rebels — the  same  crew  that  took  Dungannon  made  straight 
for  Charlemont.” 


86 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Charlemont ! well  nigh  the  strongest  place  in  Ulster ! — surely 
you  mistake,  good  fellow  ! they  can  have  no  artillery — no  siege- 
engines — by  St.  George ! an’  they  took  that  fort  so  easily,  it  is 
foul  shame  to  the  garrison — I would  shoot  every  man  of  them, 
my  lords  and  gentlemen ! — I would — or  worse  death — yea,  even 
hang  them  like  dogs  for  arrant  cowards  as  they  be  !” 

“ I warrant  O’Neill  will  save  us  the  trouble,  Sir  Francis !” 
observed  Parsons,  while  the  others  talked  apart  in  low,  eager 
whispers.  “How  is  it,  soldier!  did*tlie  rebels  kill  all  before 
them  1” 

“Not  that  I heard  of,  my  lords!  As  yet  they  have  but 
taken  prisoners.”  This  almost  incredible  news  elicited  no  word 
of  commendation,  softened  no  heart  on  behalf  of  “ the  Irishry.” 
Leaving  the  Council  to  digest  the  astounding  intelligence  hourly 
pouring  in  from  the  north,  we  must  hasten  to  relieve  the  reader’s 
anxiety  for  the  fate  of  Rory  O’Moore  and  his  faithful  friends. 
Acting  their  assumed  parts  with  consummate  skill,  so  as  to  keep 
Perry  under  the  impression  that  they  were  nothing  more  than 
they  seemed,  they  managed  to  get  safe  on  shore  some  miles  up 
the  river.  After  dismissing  the  boat  with  the  promised  gratuity 
to  Perry — so  small  as  not  to  excite  his  suspicions,  they  took  their 
way  inland,  and  when  once  out  of  sight  of  the  river,  shook 
hands  and  parted,  each  one  betaking  himself  to  the  house  of  an 
acquaintance  in  the  neighborhood,  lest  they,  remaining  together, 
should  attract  attention.  The  future  steps  to  be  taken  had  all 
been  previously  arranged.  As  for  O’Moore,  he  found  a safe  and 
pleasant  asylum  at  the  house  of  his  daughter,  then  lately  mar- 
ried to  a certain  Mr.  Sarsfield,*  and  residing  at  Lucan.  There 
he  remained  for  -a  day  or  so  until  he  effected  his  escape  ta  the 
north. 

* And  these  were  subsequently  the  parents  of  one  of  Ireland’s 
most  illustrious  sons — Patrick  Sarsfield. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


87 


CHAPTER  VII 

“ Yet  had3t  thou  thy  vengeance — yet  came  there  the  morrow, 

That  shines  out,  at  last,  on  the  longest  dark  night — ■ 

When  the  sceptre  that  smote  thee  with  slavery  and  sorrow, 

Was  shiver’d  at  once  like  a reed-in  thy  sight.” 

Moore’s  I rink  Melodies. 

“ He  rose  the  first — he  looms  the  morning  star 
Of  the  long,  glorious,  unsuccessful  war — 

England  abhors  him ! Has  she  not  abhorr’d 
All  who  for  Ireland  ventured  life  or  word  ? 

What  memory  would  she  not  have  cast  away, 

That  Ireland  hugs  in  her  heart’ s-heart  to-day 

T.  D.  McGee. 

A week  had  produced  unhoped-for  changes  in  Ulster.  As  if 
by  magic,  all  the  land  had  changed  masters,  and  from  Lough 
Sheelan’s  waters  in  O’Farrel’s  country,*  to  the  shores  of  Lough 
Swilly  and  Lough  Foyle,  in  the  far  north,  the  banners  of  the  na- 
tive chiefs  floated  in  triumph  over  fortress,  tower,  and  town.  In 
all  the  province  of  Ulster,  from  the  green  hills  of  Cavan  to  An- 
trim’s rugged  coast,  with  the  single  exceptions  of  Derry,  Carrick- 
fergus  and  Enniskillen,  there  was  not  one  stronghold  in  stranger 
hands.  Over  Charlemont  and  Dungannon,  Benburb,  Mountjoy, 
and  Portmore,  the  Red  Hand  waved  as  in  days  of  old,  side  by 
side  with  the  royal  banner  of  England,  for  it  was  Phelim  O’Neill’s 
proudest  boast  that  he  and  his  warred  not  against  their  sovereign, 
but  only  to  resist  the  further  aggressions  of  his  government  in  Ire- 
land, regarded  by  the  ^vhole  Catholic  body  as  traitors  to  the  royal 


* Now  the  county  of  Longford. 


88 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


cause,  as  well  as  ruthless  oppressors  of  themselves.  Ever  blindly 
attached  to  the  house  of  Stuart,  the  native  Irish  were  but  too 
ready  to  make  excuses  to  themselves  for  the  ungrateful  and  per- 
fidious conduct  of  Charles,  and  to  throw  the  blame  on  his  offi- 
cials in  Dublin,  who  were  consequently  the  avowed  objects  of 
their  undying  hostility.  Parsons  and  Borlase  with  their  host  of 
satellites  constituted  the  actual  scourge  of  Catholic  Ireland  at  that 
day,  and  they,  with  the  system  of  robbery  and  persecution  which 
they  represented,  must  be  swept  away,  as  the  chieftains  thought, 
before  the  king  could  carry  out  his  merciful  designs  in  their  favor. 
Hence  it  was  that  the  banner  of  England  floated  on  the  northern 
breeze  wherever  the  native  arms  prevailed,  and  so  it  was  all 
through  what  is  strangely  called  the  great  Rebellion.  But  to  re- 
turn. Tyr-Owen,  as  I said,  was  Phelim’s  own — ay ! every  rood  of 
it.  Newry,  and  all  the  Ban  country  were  subject  once  again  to 
the  ancient  lords  of  Iveagh.  The  strong  fort  of  Tanderagee  was 
taken  from  the  enemy  by  the  brave  O’ Hanlons ; the  venerable  city 
of  Patrick,  the  Primatial  See  of  Ireland,  was  captured  by  Phelim 
O’Neill  after  a fierce  and  protracted  resistance ; the  gallant 
McDonnels  of  the  Glynns  did  their  duty  well  in  Antrim,  notwith- 
standing the  threatening  proximity  of  the  Scotch  garrison  of  Car- 
rickfergus  ; the  McMahons,  roused  to  tenfold  fury  by  the  news 
of  their  brave  Tanist’s  imprisonment,  swept  over  their  entire 
country,  within  the  first  few  days  of  the  insurrection,  so  that  not 
one  place  of  refuge  remained  to  the  enemy  in  all  the  county  of 
Monaghan. 

In  Fermanagh,  for  a similar  reason,  the  arm  of  vengeance  fell 
with  deadlier  force.  The  Maguires  were  a stern  and  a warlike 
race,  men  of  Spartan  courage  and  iron  will,  and  it  grieved  them 
sore  to  think  that  their  lord  should  languish  in  dungeon  vile 
when  other  clans  marched  to  battle  with  their  chieftains  at  their 
head. 

When  the  news  of  Maguire’s  capture  first  reached  his  own  do- 
mains, his  brother  Roderick  assembled  the  men  of  his  name  who 
had  not  as  yet  joined  Sir  Phelim’s  army,  and  announced  the  dis- 
aster which  had  come  upon  them.  A roar,  or  rather  a mighty 
groan,  was  heard,  like  that  of  the  angry  ocean,  when  its  waves 
are  lashed  into  sudden  fury,— the  crowd  heaved  to  and  fro  as 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


though  agitated  by  one  common  instinct,  then  all  was  ominously 
still,  save  the  voice  of  one  who  cried  aloud — 

“ What  can  be  done,  0 Roderick,  for  the  chieftain  of  our 
race 

“ Nought  can  we  do,”  made  the  brother  answer,  in  a sorrowful 
tone  ; “ nought  can  we  do,  for  Connor, — the  fangs  of  the  serpent 
are  in  his  flesji>  and  while  life  is  left  him  he  will  be  their  prey — - 
justice  neither  he  nor  McMahon  can  expect,  and  word  or  act  of 
ours  were  alike  powerless  on  their  behalf — to  God’s  mercy,  then, 
must  we  entrust  them,  hoping  that  ere  it  be  too  late,  we  may 
win  freedom  for  them  with  our  strong  arms — but  this  can 
we  do — ” he  paused  and  surveyed  the  breathless  crowd  with  a 
kindling  fiery  glance — “ an’  we  cannot  save  them  from  ignominy, 
torture,  and,  perhaps,  death — we  can  gloriously  revenge  them — 
we  can  do  what  I am  well  assured  they  would  wish  us  to  do — 
yea,  what  will  gladden  their  sorrowful  hearts  to  hear  of — we  can 
drive  the  foreign  herd  like  swine  from  this  land  of  ours — we  can 
do  unto  them  that  which  they  have  for  ages  done  unto  us — we 
will  do  our  part  of  what  needs  must  be  done,  if  we  would  longer 
breathe  God’s  air  and  live  above  ground  !” 

A wild  shout  of  approbation  denoted  the  kindred  sentiments  of  the 
people,  and  the  lake  shore  resounded  with  the  ancient  war-cry  of 
the  Clan  Maguire,  announcing  to  the  English  garrison,  shut  up 
within  the  walls  of  Enniskillen,  that  all  the  country  round  was  in 
open  rebellion,  that  the  fierce  sept,  whom  even  in  repose  they 
feared,  were  now  girding  on  the  weapons  of  war.  And  they  did 
gird  them  on  with  a vengeance,  and  the  Tanist  kept  his  stern 
^vow,  for  annalists  tell  that  Rory  Maguire,  “ brother  of  the  Lord 
Maguire,”  ruined  and  devastated  the  English  possessions  in  Fer- 
managh, and  carried  fire  and  sword  to  the  very  walls  of  Ennis- 
killen. He  had  an  uncle,  too,  a valiant  gentleman,  one  Lorcan 
More  Maguire,  who  did  good  service  all  during  those  trying 
times,  and  between  them  they  made  Fermanagh  too  hot  for  the 
enemies  of  their  race  and  creed.  Lorcan  was  a great  lover  of  the 
marvellous,  and  to  him  were  made  all  the  spiritual  “ warnings.” 
and  other  like  manifestations  affecting  the  fate  of  the  Maguires. 
Accordingly,  the  news  of  his  nephew’s  imprisonment  had  no 
sooner  reached  him  than  he  declared  it  had  all  been  foreshown 


90 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


him  by  dreams  and  divers  remarkable  omens,  not  to  speak  of 
the  Banshee,  whose  doleful  cries  had  been  nightly  ringing  in  his 
ears  for  weeks.  And  still  her  voice  haunted  his  slumbers,  Lorcan 
said,  but  her  wail  was  mingled  with  beseechings  for  revenge,  and 
the  old  man  vowed  she  should  have  enough  of  it,  or  be  his  race 
“ unwept”  for  ever  more.  And  yet  by  a strange  anomaly,  cha- 
racteristic, however,  of  the  Irish  people,  there  was  comparatively 
little  blood  shed  during  that  first  memorable  week  even  in  Fer- 
managh. With  the  sole  exception  of  Enniskillen — which,  for 
want  of  artillery,  the  Irish  were  unable  to  take — every  town  and 
fortress  in  the  county  was  seized  by  the  Maguires,  the  well-filled 
barns  of  the  strangers  furnished  provisions  for  the  patriot  soldiers, 
and  their  owners  were  most  terribly  frightened  by  the  wild  and 
vengeful  threats  which  those  who  uttered  them  had  no  iritention 
of  carrying  out.  By  a singular  stretch  of  mercy  and  forbearance, 
English  and  Scotch  Protestants  were  permitted  to  betake  them- 
selves, which  they  did  in  droves,  to  the  sheltering  walls  of  Ennis- 
killen, Derry,  or  Carrickfergus,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  in- 
stances were  not  wanting  of  their  being  allowed  to  take  with  them 
what  valuables  they  could  collect.* 

In  Cavan  the  O’Reillys  were  up  and  stirring,  but  their  warfare 
was  marked  by  that  calm,  yet  firm  moderation,  which  we  have 
seen  manifested  in  the  speech  and  bearing  of  their  chief  on  his 
first  introduction  to  the  reader.  When  once  his  mind  was  made 
up  on  the  necessity,  as  well  as  justice  of  the  war,  no  man  entered 
into  its  details  more  minutely,  or  carried  out  its  operations  with 
greater  energy  than  he.  Still  the  gentleness  of  his  nature  gave 
a peculiar  character  to  his  share  of  the  military  transactions  oi 
the  time,  and  even  the  most  prejudiced  Protestant  historians  bear 
honorable  testimony  to  the  clemency  wherewith  the  O’Reillys  ot 
Cavan  tempered  the  horrors  of  civil  war  in  their  part  of  the 
country.  With  Philip,  their  worthy  chief,  was  associated  in 

* This  was  especially  the  case  at  one  of  the  northern  castles  taken 
by  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  of  much-slandered  memory,  on  which  occa- 
sion the  occupants  of  the  fort  were  seen  in  broad  day  carrying  off 
with  them  trunks  of  rich  clothing,  plate,  and  even  money,  the  Irish 
forces  looking  on  without  offering  to  molest  them. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


91 


command  his  cousin  Miles  O’Reilly,  who,  at  the  time  of  the  nor- 
thern “ rising,”  was  High  Sheriff  of  the  county.  This  gentleman 
is  specially  mentioned  as  heading  the  first  rising  of  the  men  of 
Breffny,  and  his  gallant  spirit  sustained  and  cheered  them  on 
through  many  a trying  scene  of  the  eleven  years’  war.  One  of 
the  first  acts  of  the  O’Reillys,  after  sending  their  quota  to  the 
general  army,  and  taking  possession  of  all  the  strongholds  of 
their  territory,  was  to  restore  the  churches  to  their  rightful 
owners,  and  this  they  did  in  the  coolest  and  most  business-like 
way  imaginable.  The  usurping  clergy  were  in  every  parish  duly 
warned  to  quit  without  further  notice,  as  the  churches  and  glebes 
were  required  for  the  use  of  those  whose  fathers  built  them. 
Where  any  remonstrance  was  attempted  or  an  appeal  made  to 
the  pity  of  the  unwelcome  visitors,  the  latter  generally  cut  the 
matter  short  with  a peremptory  order  to  pack  up  and  go,  saying  it 
was  only  fair  that  they  should  have  their  turn  of  the  hardship 
which  God’s  anointed  ministers  had  been  made  to  endure  for  ages 
by  them  and  their  friends.  The  example  set  by  these  high-souled 
Breffny  men  was  quickly  followed  throughout  the  province  ; the 
clergy  of  the  people,  hitherto  wandering  about  on  sufferance 
amongst  their  flocks,  were  now  publicly  installed  in  the  glebe- 
houses,  and  the  churches,  so  long  profaned  by  heretical  worship, 
were  purified  and  solemnly  opened  again  for  the  celebration  of 
the  divine  mysteries. 

Thus  within  the  second  week  after  the  rising,  the  whole  aspect 
of  affairs  was  changed  in  Ulster  ; the  native  tribes  were  again  in 
possession  of  the  soil ; the  flags  of  their  chieftains  floated  free 
over  tower  and  town  ; — Religion-,  so  long  occult  and  concealed, 
now  raised  her  stately  head  as  of  old,  and  planted  her  royal 
standard  on  the  high  places — in  Ulster,  at  least,  she  was  again  “ the 
city  on  the  mountain”  seen  of  all  men; — the  Cross,  her  beloved 
emblem,  for  ages  hidden  away  in  the  caverns  of  the  earth  and 
the  inaccessible  fastnesses  of  the  hills,  was  now  brought  forth  in 
triumph  and  placed  on  the  steeples  and  on  the  altars,  amid  the 
exulting  shouts  of  the  faithful  people,  and  the  loud  hosannas  of 
the  clergy.  It  was  a proud  day  when  Hugh  O’Neill,  primate  of 
Ireland,  stood  once  more  at  the  altar  of  Patrick  on  the  holy  hill 
of  Ardmacha,  and  when  Hebei*  of  Clogher  appeared  before  the 


92 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


warlike  clans  of  Uriel  in  full  episcopal  costume,  and  offered  up 
for  them  in  the  cathedral  which  their  own  valor  had  recovered 
the  divine  sacrifice  of  the  New  Law.  When  we  remember  that 
these  scenes  were  going  on  either  simultaneously  or  in  rapid  suc- 
cession all  over  the  northern  province,  while  the  heretical  clergy 
who  had  so  long  usurped  the  ancient  seats  of  piety  were  hud- 
dled together  within  the  walls  of  the  few  fortresses  remaining  to 
their  party  in  Ulster,  we  can  imagine  the  wild  enthusiasm  of  a 
people  in  whom  the  religious  sentiment  was  stronger  than  all 
others,  and  in  whose  hearts  the  triumph  or  debasement  of  reli- 
gion was  ever  inseparably  associated  with  that  of  their  country. 

Of  the  chieftains  who  led  the  people  almost  everywhere  to  vic- 
tory during  those  eventful  weeks,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  holds  the 
first  place — the  traditional  reverence  in  which  the  name  was 
held,  the  position  he  occupied  amongst  the  native  chiefs,  and, 
above  all,  the  fiery  and  impulsive  vehemence  of  his  character — set 
down  as  valor  by  his  compatriots — placed  him  just  where  he  de- 
sired to  be,  at  the  head  of  the  Ulster  forces.  He  had  established 
his  head  quarters  at  Newry,  a day  or  two  after  the  general  mus- 
ter of  the  army,  and  thence  he  issued  orders  with  supreme  autho- 
rity, commanding  and  countermanding  as  occasion  required  with 
that  ceaseless  activity  which  belonged  to  his  character.  From 
the  upper  borders  of  Breffny  to  the  wild  capes  and  headlands  of 
Innisowen,  from  Slieve-Gullian  and  the  Mourne  Mountains, 
to  the  Western  Marches,  where  Fermanagh  stretched  into  Con- 
naught, Sir  Phelim’s  authority  was  recognized  and  his  word 
obeyed  as  law  ; at  his  command  castles  and  forts  were  stormed 
and  taken,  protection  given,  withheld  or  withdrawn,  supplies 
levied,  and  commissions  issued.  Others  of  the  chiefs,  associated 
with  O’Neill,  might  have,  and  undoubtedly  had,  abilities  superior 
to  his,  but  so  sincere  was  their  general  devotion  to  the  cause  that  no 
petty  jealousy  appears  to  have  arisen  amongst  them — had  they 
not  been  united  heart  and  soul  as  one  man  under  one  head,  their 
fair  province  could  not  have  thrown  off  the  shackles  of  ages  in 
one  single  week,  giving  an  example  to  the  sister-provinces  which 
in  due  time  they  followed. 

Considering,  then,  the  leading  part  which  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill 
took  in  this  magnificent  revolution  in  the  north,  it  is  easy  to  un- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


93 


derstand  the  detestation  with  which  he  was  regarded  by  the  ge- 
neration of  robbers  whom  he  dispossessed — very  uncivilly,  no 
doubt — of  the  lands  and  livings  from  which  the  lawful  owners 
had  been  driven  out  to  make  room  for  their  fathers  in  a bygone 
age.  It  was  very  unpleasant,  to  be  sure,  for  the  bloated 
“ planters”  of  Ulster,  to  be  forced  to  disgorge  the  six  counties 
swallowed  with  so  much  unction  in  the  days  of  bountiful  King 
James,  and  little  wonder  it  is  if  they  looked  upon  Stout  Phelim 
as  a very  ungracious  leech.  Hence  the  massacres  and  wanton 
cruelties  which  they  delighted  to  lay  to  his  charge,  magnified  by 
the  traditional  hatred  of  their  descendents  into  the  blackest  and 
most  atrocious  crimes,  so  that  Phelim  O’Neill  is  represented  to 
the  world  as  a monster  stained  by  every  crime  that  can  disgrace 
humanity.  That  he  had  a heart-hatred  of  English  tyranny,  and 
resented  with  all  the  intensity  of  a fierce  and  passionate  nature 
the  system  of  spoliation  and  religious  persecution  of  which  his 
whole  race  had  been  for  centuries  the  victims,  is  as  true  as  that 
the  eight  or  ten  first  days  of  the  war  so  actively  carried  on  by  him 
in  Ulster  were  marked  by  no  massacre  or  even  personal  outrage 
beyond  what  was  incidental  to  the  violent  transfer  of  a whole 
province  from  one  set  of  masters  to  another. 

But,  leaving  this  digression — which,  after  all,  is  no  digression 
— let  us  see  what  has  become  of  Rory  O’Moore,  and  how  the 
news  of  the  Ulster  rising  is  received  in  the  other  provinces.  As 
yert  all  seemed  quiet  in  Leinster,  and  the  government  proclama- 
tion, duly  read  in  the  proper  places,  and  duly  posted  on  church 
and  other  public  doors,  seemed  to  have  the  desired  effect — the 
Palesmen  were  as  peaceable  and  “ well-affected”  towards  the 
powers  that  were  as  even  Parson’s  heart  could  wish,  when  sud- 
denly the  border  parts  of  the  south  were  found  to  be  in  quite  an 
alarming  commotion,  and  before  the  loyal  could  tell  "what  it 
meant,  within  a mile  or  so  of  the  then  strong  fortress  of  Ardee, 
almost  within  range  of  the  guns,  a suspicious  gathering  of  the 
people  was  observed,  occupying  a decidedly  suspicious  position  on 
the  slope  of  one  of  the  few  hills  in  the  vicinity — if  hills  we  may 
call  the  occasional  undulations  of  a vast  plain.  Rumors  got 
afloat,  and  penetrated  even  to  the  English  garrison  of  the  castlo, 
that  one  of  the  rebel  leaders  was  there  in  person,  and,  in  great 


94 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


excitement,  the  governor  dispatched  a troop  of  horse,  under 
the  command  of  his  lieutenant,  Sir  John  Netterville,  to  ascertain 
whether  the  report  were  true,  and,  in  any  case,  to  send  the 
people  about  their  business,  seeing  that  they  had  no  business  there. 

When  the  young  noble  of  the  Pale  approached  the  multitu- 
dinous assembly  on  the  hill,  he  was  much  surprised  to  perceive 
them  fully  equipped  with  such  arms  as  country  people  could 
improvise,  to  wit,  pikes,  bludgeons,  scythes,  and  other  such 
unsoldierly  implements  of  warfare,  and  so  unsightly  did  these 
appear  that  Netterville  could  not  refrain  from  smiling,  while  his 
men  laughed  outright.  There  was  that,  however,  in  the  resolute 
air  of  the  peasants  as  they  drew  together  at  the  approach  of 
the  cavalry,  firmly  grasping  their  formidable  weapons,  which 
instantly  checked  the  unseasonable  mirth  of  the  soldiers,  and 
made  their  leader  himself  look  grave.  He  immediately  ordered 
one  of  his  troopers  to  the  front  with  a white  flag,  calling  out 
himself  at  the  same  time : 

“ Peace,  peace,  good  people ! — we  come  not  as  enemies ! — who 
is  in  command  amongst  ye  V3 

“An  old  acquaintance  of  yours,  Sir  John  Netterville!”  said  a 
gentleman  in  a Spanish  hat  and  an  Irish  cloak,  advancing  from 
a farm-house  in  the  centre  of  the  crowd,  the  people  giving  way 
respectfully  as  he  passed.  It  was  no  other  than  our  friend 
Watty,  the  drunken  sailor  of  the  Liffey,  though  Perry  would 
have  had  some  difficulty  in  recognizing  him,  as  he  exchanged  a 
graceful  salute  with  the  royal  officer. 

“What!  Roger  0’ Moore ! or  do  mine  eyes  play  me  false V* 
the  latter  cried  in  amazement. 

“Surely  no,  Sir  John!”  said  O’Moore  with  his  bland  smile; 
‘ methinks  those  gracious  orbs  of  thine  were  much  at  fault,  an’ 
they  knew  not  my  lineaments ! — how  fares  the  good  lord  your 
father.” 

“Well  in  body,  Roger,”  replied  Netterville  with  a meaning 
smile,  “ but  wofully  afflicted  in  spirit  because  of  the  doings  of 
these — ahem !”  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  glanced  at  the  motley 
array  before  him. 

“ I understand  you,  Sir  John,”  said  O’Moore  in  Irish,  and 
ho  spoke  with  a bitterness  all  unusual;  “I  heard  of  my  lord 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


95 


Netterville,  with  the  other  chief  men  of  the  Pale,  hastening 
many  days  since  to  offer  their  services  at  the  Castle — they  asked 
for  arms,  too,  it  would  seem,  to  use  against  their  poor  country- 
men of  the  same  faith,  who  are  fighting  their  battle  as  well  as 
their  own— faugh  ! they  stink  in  our  nostrils,  those  magnates  of 
the  Pale — for  all  many  of  them  were  my  good  friends  and  kins- 
men— inasmuch  as  that,  with  noble  blood  in  their  veins,  and 
the  profession  of  faith  on  their  lips,  they  crouch  like  hounds  at 
the  feet  of  those  who  have  wronged  the  Catholics  of  this  nation 
beyond  forgiveness,  as  beyond  reparation — yea ! who  are  sworn 
to  cut  us  off  root  and  branch — ah ! Sir  John  Netterville  ! I shame 
to  hear  of  these  craven  doings,  and  trust  me  ! my  heart  is  sore 
oppressed  with  grief  to  see  you  in  such  livery — you,  of  whom  I 
had  better  hopes !” 

“ So  said  my  Lord  Moore  but  yester-eve,”  cried  Sir  John 
with  a gay  laugh,  speaking  fluently  the  same  tongue.  “ He  and 
his  family  have  betaken  themselves  to  Drogheda  for  shelter — fear- 
ing, God  wot,  to  trust  the  strength  of  his  own  walls— he  seems  to 
have  no  great  opinion  of  my  loyalty,  for,  as  I was  saying,  he  told  me 
over  night,  as  you  did  but  now,  that  he  had  thought  me  a loyal 
gentleman  and  a true  son  of  a noble  father— i’faith  an’  I am 
doubted  on  every  side,  I must  e’en  doubt  myself ” 

“ Sir  John  Netterville  !”  said  O’Moore,  advancing  a step  or  two 
with  outstretched  hand,  “ what  am  I to  think — what  brings  you 
hither  in  such  guise  if,  indeed,  you  be  what,  my  heart  would 
fondly  hope  1” 

“ Stand  back,  Roger  ! not  a step  farther,  an’  you  value  my  head 
and  your  own ! For  your  thoughts  of  me,  I would  have  them  favor- 
able— what  brought  me  hither  was  to  disperse  this  tumultuous 
gathering — so  the  order  runs— an’  you  take  a friend’s  advice,  ye 
will  move  from  here,  and  thereby  show  that  I did  my  errand — but 
hark  you,  Roger ! keep  your  men  together,  and  march  north- 
ward—a  little  way  beyond  the  borders  into  Farney — there  let 
them  remain  in  arms  till  you  have  concerted  measures  with  those 
you  know  in  the  far  north !” 

“ Thanks,  Sir  John,  thanks!  That  course  is  surely  safest  and 
best — but  you  V* 

“ Oh ! leave  me  to  my  own  wits” — and  again  Netterville  laughed 


96 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


as  lie  turned  his  rein,  and  made  a sign  to  his  subordinates  to  ride 
on— “ suffice  it  for  the  present,  that  I feel  as  you  do,  and  will  act 
accordingly,  when  occasion  serves,  so  help  me  God  and  my  good 
patron  St.  John! — nay,  doubt  me  not,  Roger! — I have  plans  in 
my  head  of  which  you  may  hear  ere  long  to  your  satisfaction — 
but  name  me  not  in  the  councils  of  your  friends — the  time  is 
not  yet  come — farewell ! and  I pray  you  to  bear  this  in  mind, 
that  all  the  Catholic  gentlemen  of  the  Pale  are  not  so  pliant,  or 
so  oblivious  of  past  and  present  wrong  as  my  honored  father 
and  his  peers  would  seem  to  be !” 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a tone  so  significant  that 
O’Moore  could  not  help  laying  them  up  for  future  reflection. 
One  doubt,  however,  remained  to  be  solved. 

“A  word  with  you,  Sir  John,”  he  called  after  Netterville.  in  a 
subdued  tone , “ I am  to  conclude  that  your  people  do  not  un- 
derstand our  language  —but  how  is  it  that  you  seem  to  have  no 
fear  of  exciting  their  suspicions  by  such  lengthened  parley  with 
me  7” 

“ Why,  man  ! from  the  distance  at  which  we  stood,”  said  the 
other,  riding  back  a few  yards,  “ they  would  have  had  good  lugs 
an’  they  heard  what  passed — for  the  rest  I have  no  fears— not  one 
of  them  would  harm  a hair  of  my  head  for  Lord  Moore’s  estate  ! 
go  your  ways,  Roger,  and  God  have  you  in  care  till  we  meet 
again — by  then  you  may  know  many  for  friends  whom  you  now, 
perchance,  esteem  as  foes !” 

“ Heaven  grant  it  be  so!”  murmured  O’Moore,  as  he  gazed  a 
moment  after  the  gallant  cortege,  his  eyes  resting  with  pride  and 
no  small  degree  of  hope  on  the  light  and  graceful  form  of  the 
young  Norman  noble.  Many  questions  were  by  this  time  buzz- 
ing in  his  ears,  from  the  curious  and  eager  listeners  around  him, 
and  to  answer  them  satisfactorily  he  took  the  principal  men 
amongst  them  into  the  farm-house  before-mentioned,  where,  after 
a short  consultation,  the  march  into  McMahon’s  friendly  country 
was  agreed  upon,  until  such  time  as  orders  could  be  received 
from  head-quarters.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  while  0’  Moore 
rode  post-haste  to  join  the  northern  chieftains  at  Newry,  the 
sturdy  Louth  men  were  welcomed  with  joyful  acclamation  by 
their  neighbors  “ over  the  border,”  in  the  Irish  country,  who 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


97 


naturally  hailed  their  accession  as  the  first  instalment  from  the 
Pale. 

On  his  way  from  Ardee  to  Newry,  O’Moore’s  patriot  heart  was 
gladdened  by  the  tidings  that  Longford  and  Leitrim  were  up  in 
arms — Leinster  and  Connaught  were  at  length  stirred  into  action, 
though  as  yet  only  on  their  outskirts.  “ I knew  the  O’Farrels 
would  not  long  remain  inactive,”  said  O’Moore  to  a Louth  gen- 
tleman, who,  with  two  of  his  followers,  accompanied  him  to  the 
camp ; “ 1 knew  they  would  speedily  snap  their  chain,  for  all 
their  officious  loyalty — loyalty,  indeed ! defend  us,  heaven ! from 
the  loyalty  which  is  treason  to  our  bleeding  country ! But  the 
O’Farrels  were  in  former  times  such  very  loyal  gentlemen 
that  they  must'  needs  prove  their  adhesion  to  the  government  by 
fighting  their  best  against  Hugh  O’Neill,  for  which,  forsooth! 
they  received  government  commendation,  together  with  a small 
matter  of  toleration,  by  virtue  of  which  they  have  retained  some 
shreds  of  their  ancient  patrimony — they  have  lately,  as  I hear, 
got  some  kicks  and  buffets  from  the  Castle-folk,  which,  most 
like,  spurred  them  on  to  make  cause  with  us.” 

“Ay,  marry !”  said  the  Louth  man,  “ I have  ever  heard  the  O’Far- 
rels of  Longford,  marvellously  well  spoken  of  within  the  Pale — 
good  Lord,  Mr.  O’Moore ! what  may  that  mean  1”  He  pointed  as 
he  spoke  to  a bulky  object  suspended  from  a tree  some  twenty 
yards  before  them.  O’Moore  answered  not,  but  rode  forward  at 
a more  rapid  pace,  closely  followed  by  the  others,  till  he 
reached  the  object  in  question.  It  was  the  body  of  a man  com- 
fortably clad  in  the  English  costume. 

“ It  is  e’en  one  of  the  blood-hounds  of  the  law,”  said  O’Moore 
with  indifference,  that  was  partly  assumed,  “ and  look !”  point- 
ing to  a printed  paper  on  the  breast  of  the  corpse,  “ look  you, 
there  is  the  insolent  proclamation  lately  issued  from  the  Castle 
— he  would  read  it,  doubtless,  for  some  of  these  fierce  border 
chieftains ! methinks  that  will  be  the  last  of  such  readings  this 
side  the  march !” 

“ It  is  an  awful  sight!”  said  Callan,  with  a heavy  sigh  ; “ after 
all,  Mr.  O’Moore,  war  is  a direful  trade  to  take  up !” — and  he 
spurred  his  horse  to  a gallop  so  as  to  get  out  of  sight  of  the 
hateful  object. 

5a 


98 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ What,  man,”  cried  O’Moore,  rather  more  sternly  than  was  his 
wont,  “ you  must,  ere  now,  be  well  used  to  such  sights,  or  there 
be  no  ‘ Popish  recusants’  in  your  country.  I warrant  me,  these 
gallant  gentlemen  will  teach  them  to  dance  to  another  tune  ere 
long,  and  moreover,  to  keep  their  proclamations  for  those  who 
value  them !” 

They  were  here  challenged  by  a warder  from* the  battlements 
of  a castellated  building,  some  perches  from  the  high  road,  and  his 
husky  voice  made  the  Palesmen  start.  But  O’Moore  made  an- 
SAver  quickly  in  Irish,  telling  Avho  they  were  and  on  what  business, 
when  a prompt  “ Pass  on,  in  God’s  name  !”  sent  the  travellers  on 
their  journey  with  renewed  hope  and  confidence.  Even  the  half- 
fearful Louth  man  exclaimed  in  a cheerful  tone : “ Marry,  but 
times  are  changing— something  may  come  of  it  yet  !** 

“ Never  doubt  it,  man,  never  doubt  it,”  cried  O’Moore,  slap- 
ping him  gaily  on  the  shoulder ; “ every  step  you  take  now  is  on 
free  soil,  and  by  the  time  you  reach  O’Neill’s  camp,  you  will  be 
as  sure  of  victory  for  our  arms  as  I am !” 

While  O’Moore  and  his  companions  were  thus  beguiling  the 
weary  way  to  Newry,  exchanging  friendly  greetings  ever  and 
anon  with  straggling  parties  from  O’Neill’s  force,  the  brave 
O’Rourkes  of  Western  Breffny  were  rapidly  clearing  their  an- 
cient territory  of  the  savage  brood  of  vipers  who  had  been  so  long 
preying  on  their  life-blood.  One  of  the  most  atrocious  miscreants 
of  the  robber-race,  Sir  Frederick  Hamilton,  was,  unhappily  for 
that  county,  located  in  Leitrim,  in  the  midst  of  princely  posses- 
sions, which,  of  right,  belonged  to  the  plundered  O’Kourkes,  and 
his  stately  mansion  of  Manor  Hamilton  Avas  nothing  better  than 
a den  of  marauders,  who,  under  pretence  of  keeping  the  Papists 
in  subjection,  periodically  issued  forth  and  committed  all  manner 
of  depredations  (of  which  robbery  was  the  least  offensive)  on  the 
unoffending  natives.  Any  attempt  at  resistance  had  hitherto  but 
provoked  still  greater  cruelty  and  oppression,  for  Hamilton  and 
his  hell-hounds,  as  the  people  called  them,  were  far  too  useful  to 
the  Lords  Justices  to  be  restrained  in  their  harmless  sport  of  rob- 
bing, torturing  and  murdering  such  illicit  animals  as  native  Papists. 
What  fell  out  in  Breffny-O’Rourke  in  those  days  of  retribution 
we  shall  presently  see. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


09 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

“The  tyrannous  and  bloody  aet  is  done.” 

Shakspeare. 

“ The  greatest  attribute  of  Heaven  is  mercy, 

And  ’tis  the  crown  of  justice  and  the  glory, 

Where  it  may  kill  with  right  to  save  with  pity.” 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

The  torch  of  freedom  had  shone  but  few  days  on  the  hills  of 
Leitrim  when,  as  in  the  neighboring  counties  of  Ulster,  the  most 
brilliant  success  attended  the  bold  attempts  of  the  native  tribes 
to  recover  their  independence,  or  rather  to  free  themselves  from 
the  iron  fangs  of  the  fanatic  government,  for  it  never  entered  into 
the  heads  of  any  amongst  them  to  reject  the  authority  of  King 
Charles.  Many  of  the  chief  strongholds  of  the  country  were 
already  in  possession  of  the  O’Rourkes  and  other  tribes  of  lesser 
note,  but  as  yet  no  attempt  had  been  made  on  Manor  Hamilton, 
partly  on  account  of  the  extreme  terror  in  which  its  freebooting 
lord  was  held,  and  partly,  because  of  the  exaggerated  ideas  en- 
tertained regarding  the  strength  of  the  fortress. 

But  although  this  stronghold  of  fanaticism  was  still  unassailed, 
many  places  of  equal,  or  almost  equal,  importance  were  snatched 
from  the  enemy  bj'  the  brave  and  chivalrous  Owen  O’Rourke,  the 
chosen  head  of  thg  Leitrim  clans — -chosen  not  more  on  account 
of  his  princely  lineage  than  the  admirable  qualities  of  his  head 
and  heart.  Handsome,  like  most  of  the  chieftains  of  his  race,* 

* Most  of  our  readers  are  doubtless  acquainted  with  the  story  of 
that  O’Rourke  of  Breffay  who,  visiting  London  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  the  Royal  virgin  became  so  struck  with  his  extraordinary 


100 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


brave  as  man  could  well  be,  accomplished  in  all  the  knightly  arts 
of  war,  and  withal  generous  in  the  highest  degree,  the  O'Rourke 
of  that  day  was  a man  who  commanded  the  respect  of  all — even 
bis  enemies  were  forced  to  acknowledge  his  high  deserts,  while 
by  his  own  party  he  was  universally  loved  and  esteemed.  Such, 
then,  was  the  man  whom  the  fate  of  war  opposed  to  the  brutal 
and  overbearing  Hamilton  in  the  wild  guerilla  warfare  of  that 
remote  country.  It  so  chanced  that  in  capturing  the  various  cas- 
tles and  manor-houses  of  the  county,  many  distinguished  persons 
of  both  sexes  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  O’Rourke,  and  for 
some  days  these  were  entertained  in  the  dwelling  of  the  chief 
with  that  princely  hospitality  which  became  his  noble  ancestry 
rather  than  his  present  fortune.  Amongst  the  prisoners  were  a 
few  ladies  of  high  rank,  either  belonging  to,  or  connected  with 
some  of  the  first  English  families  in  Ireland.  Now  the  terror 
with  which  these  dames  of  quality  had  at  first  regarded  the  Irish 
chieftain  speedily  wore  away  in  the  genial  influence  of  his  pre- 
sence, surrounded  as  he  was,  too,  by  a most  interesting  family- 
circle — and  what  with  the  novelty  of  their  situation,  the  polite 
attentions  of  the  chieftain  and  his  family,  and  the  soothing  strains 
of  the  old  harper  who  nightly  made  his  harp  discourse  most  sweet 
music  from  an  oaken  settle  in  one  of  the  wide  chimneys  of  the 
great  hall,  the  prisoners — at  least  the  female  portion* of  them — 
almost  forgot  their  captivity,  and  learned  to  love  the  chains  which 
the  chivalrous  O’Rourke  contrived  to  interweave  with  flowers. 

A week  had  flown  away — the  number  of  English  in  the  Castle 
was  every  day  increasing,  as  fort  after  fort  was  taken  by  the 
sept,  and  yet  no  diminution  in  the  respectful  demeanor  of  the 
household,  including  often  whole  parties  of  the  fiercest  and  most 
formidable  of  O’Rourke’s  followers.  The  latter,  in  conformity 
with  old  customs,  still  took  their  place  at  the  further  end  of  the 

personal  beauty  that  she  conceived  a violent  passion  for  him,  and  long 
detained  him  near  her.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  woman  that  when, 
after  a time,  her  passion  cooled,  she  much  desired  to  have  O’Rourke 
made  away  with ; and  the  ill-fated  chieftain  was  accordingly  brought 
to  the  scaffold  for  some  frivolous  political  pretext.  This  Teige  was 
not  the  only  one  of  his  race  distinguished  for  personal  attractions. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


101 


spacious  board  extending  the  full  length  of  the  hall,  the  family 
and  their  guests  occupying  the  dais  or  raised  portion  at  the 
upper  end. 

It  was  the  middle  of  November  and  the  wild  northern  blast 
was  sweeping  angrily  over  the  frost-clad  hills  and  moors  around 
the  Castle,  when  about  midday  word  was  brought  the  chieftain 
that  his  brother  had  been  taken  prisoner  that  morning  by  a party 
of  Sir  Frederick  Hamilton’s  horse.  At  first  a chillness  like  that 
of  death  crept  over  the  stout  warrior,  for  imprisonment  in  the 
gloomy  vaults  of  Manor  Hamilton  was,  to  a Catholic,  sure  to  end 
in  death  —most  likely  a death  of  torture  and  ignominy. 

“ Great  God !”  cried  Owen  O’Rourke,  the  cold  sweat  oozing 
from  every  pore  of  his  body,  “ can  it  be  true  that  my  own — my 
only  brother — the  brother  who  is  to  me  more  than  a son — that 
my  fair-haired  Tiernan  is  in  the  power  of  that  blood-thirsty 
demon  1 — an’  it  be  so,  his  chance  of  life  is  not  worth  a straw  !” 

Suddenly  a gleam  of  hope  illumined  the  darkness  of  the  chief- 
tain’s soul,  and  he  bounded  from  his  seat  with  the  lightness  of  a 
mountain-deer.  “ Glory  and  honor  to  thy  name,  my  God  !”  he 
said  almost  aloud  as  he  darted  to  the  chamber  of  his  wife  to  com- 
municate the  tidings  but  late  so  heart-rending,  now  of  less  pain- 
ful import. 

“ Bad  news  were  mine  to  tell  you,  Eveleen  !”  said  Owen  as  he 
threw  himself  on  a cushioned  bench  beside  his  still  lovely  mate, 
“ were  it  not  for  one  thing.” 

“ How  now,  Owen,”  his  wife  exclaimed  with  a look  of  anxious 
surprise  ; “ there  be  much  in  your  words  and  more  in  your  eyes 
— what  has  fallen  out  1” 

“ Our  Teague  is  a prisoner  in  the  hands  of  Hamilton  !” 

“ Holy  St.  Bridget!  Owen!  can  that  be  true  T’  and  the  lady 
crossed  herself  devoutly,  “ an’  it  be,  I marvel  at  your  gaiety  !” 

“ So  you  might,  sweetheart,  an’  I were  thus  lightsome  without 
good  cause.  Bethink  you  of  the  number  of  persons  of  prime 
quality  Who  are  prisoners  here  with  us — ha ! you  smile  now — the 
rose  returns  to  your  cheek — yes,  Eveleen,  my  faithful  wife,  let 
us  thank  the  Lord  of  hosts  who  has  placed  these  dames  and  gen- 
tlemen in  our  hands,  for  they  are  hostages  for  the  safety  of  our 


102 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


brother ! — giving  them,  we  shall  receive  him ! Rejoice  with  me, 
oh  my  beloved !” 

But  Eveleen  did  not,  could  not  rejoice.  A dark  presentiment 
of  evil  took  possession  of  her  mind,  and  fears,  which  she  might 
not  utter,  lay  heavy  on  her  soul.  She  strove  to  appear  as  though 
she  shared  her  husband’s  hopes,  but  beneath  the  assumed  cheer- 
fulness of  her  outward  showing  lay  the  fearful  thought  that  the 
generous,  high-hearted  youth,  whom  all  the  Clan  O’Rourke  look- 
ed up  to  as  their  future  chief,  was  in  the  power  of  an  incarnate 
fiend  who  seemed  to  revel  in  bloodshed  as  the  joy  of  life. 

Neither  were  the  gentlemen  of  his  kindred  so  sanguine  as  their 
chief,  regarding  Tiernan’s  safety,  and  if  O’Rourke  had  taken  their 
advice  he  would  have  assembled  all  his  forces,  and  marched  at 
once  to  storm  Manor  Hamilton.  But  the  chieftain  was  confident, 
having,  as  he  supposed,  the  guarantee  of  his  brother’s  safety  in 
his  own  hands,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  his  opinion  that  a. 
sudden  attack  on  a fortress  which,  without  artillery,  they  could 
hardly  hope  to  take,  would  but  exasperate  Hamilton  and  perhaps 
accelerate  the  catastrophe  which  by  fair  means  he  hoped  to  avert. 

A messenger  bearing  a flag  of  truce  and  accompanied  by  a suit- 
able escort  was  accordingly  sent  without  loss  of  time  to  Manor 
Hamilton  to  inform  Sir  Frederick  that  Owen  O’Rourke  having  in 
his  custody  a number  of  prisoners  of  high  standing  amongst  the 
English  of  the  Pale,  and  having  just  learned  that  his  brother 
Tiernan  O’Rourke  had  been  captured  that  morning  by  a troop  of 
cavalry  from  the  Manor,  he  was  willing  to  deliver  all  the  prison- 
ers before-mentioned  into  Sir  Frederick’s  hands  without  ransom 
or  other  condition  than  his  brother’s  release. 

Sir  Frederick  stood  on  the  battlements  surrounded  by  his 
archers  to  hear  O’Rourke’s  message.  As  he  listened,  a smile  of 
savage  ferocity  gleamed  on  his  swarthy  face,  and  his  great  black 
eyes  shone  with  a lurid  light. 

“ Ho ! ho  !”  he  laughed,  and  his  laugh  rang  strangely  out  on 
the  moaning  wind  ; “ ho  ! ho ! release  his  brother — ay  ! marry 
will  I — it  were  hard  to  refuse  the  first  favor  so  good  a neighbor 
ever  asked  of  me.  Where  be  your  chieftain  now  V * 

“ He  waits  our  return  some  miles  hence  at  the  Haunted  Hollow.” 

“ And  the  prisoners  ?” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


103 


“ They  are  of  his  company  there,  Sir  Frederick,  ready  to  make 
the  exchange  forthwith.” 

“Pity  it  is  to  have  such  noble  dames  shivering  in  the  blast. 
What,  ho  ! there,  bring  up  the  prisoner  O’Rourke——” 

“Is  it  your  pleasure,  Sir  Frederick,”  said  Manus  O’Rourke 
through  his  trumpet,  “ is  it  your  pleasure  that  we  bring  the  Eng- 
lish prisoners  hither  I” 

“ As  ye  will, — stay  first  to  have  a sight  of  your  pretty  Tanist — 
bless  the  boy  !”  he  jeeringly  added  as  the  youthful  warrior  was 
brought  before  him  by  a winding  staircase  leading  from  the  don- 
jon-vault. “ A nice  captain,  forsooth,  for  savage  rebels.” 

A joyful  shout  from  the  O’Rourkes  beyond  the  moat  hailed 
the  appearance  of  their  young  lord,  who  turned  and  smiled  his 
grateful  recognition.  Sign  he  could  not  make,  for  his  hands 
were  closely  manacled.  He  was  going  to  speak,  however,  for 
he  advanced  a step  or  two  towards  the  parapet,  his  soul-lit  face 
beaming  with  the  joy  of  seeing  friends  once  more,  but  suddenly 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  some  strange  preparations  going  on 
amongst  the  brutal  soldiers  near  him,  and  the  words  died  on  his 
lips. 

Having  once  seen  him,  and  being  naturally  anxious  to  havo 
him  again  in  their  own  safe  keeping,  the  faithful  clansmen  were 
moving  hastily  away,  in  order  to  bring  the  English  prisoners, 
when  an  agonized  voice  of  entreaty  reached  their  ears,  high 
above  the  wail  of  the  wintry  blast.  It  was  that  of  Tiernan 
O’Rourke — their  hearts  told  them  so — and  the  words  it  uttered 
were  “ For  God’s  sake,  stay  !” 

Manus  O’Rourke  and  his  little  party  turned  quickly  back, 
and  again  faced  the  fortress  just  in  time  to  see  their  idolized 
young  Tanist  launched  from  the  lofty  parapet,  his  body  swinging 
ill  mid-air  above  their  heads,  his  death-shriek  drowned  in  a yell 
of  savage  mockery  from  Hamilton  and  his  brutal  archers.  Alas  ! 
the  presence  of  his  clansmen,  so  urgently  invoked,  afforded  no 
protection  to  the  unhappy  victim — they  had  the  horror  of  wit- 
nessing his  murder  without  the  power  of  doing  aught  on  his 
behalf,  when  there  was  not  a man  amongst  them  who  would  not 
have  given  his  heart’s  blood  to  save  him.  It  was  a fiendish  device, 
worthy  of  Hamilton  himself,  to  secure  such  witnesses  for  such  a 


104 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


specta.de.  And  oil ! the  agony  which  wrung  those  faithful  hearts 
as  with  a wild  shriek  they  covered  their  faces  to  avoid  the  mad- 
dening sight ! Rage  and  despair  filled  their  souls,  and  for  a mo- 
ment they  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  dread  calamity  which 
had  come  upon  them.  They  were  speedily  aroused  from  this 
torpor  by  the  harsh  voice  of  Hamilton  overhead  : 

“ Why  dally  ye  now,  men  of  BrefFny  1 — surely  ye  have  got 
your  message !” 

“ Ah ! you  devil’s  limb  !”  cried  Manus  as  loudly  as  his  choking 
passion  would  permit.  “ There  will  come  a day  for  this — an’ 
you  had  a thousand  lives  we’ll  have  them  all — they  say  the  devil 
has  you  bodily,  but  if  all  his  legions  took  your  part,  we’ll  have 
revenge  for  this  deed — ay,  for  every  hair  in  Tiernan’s  head  !’* 

“ Go  to  h — 1 !”  shouted  Hamilton;  “ an’  ye  remain  a moment 
longer,  these  fellows  will  send  ye  a shower  of  arrows — but  stay, 
ye  shall  have  Tiernan  home  with  ye  in  regard  to  the  prisoners 
whom  your  chief  holds !” 

Before  the  bewildered  followers  of  O’Rourke  could  guess  his 
meaning,  the  rope  was  severed  above,  and  down  amongst  them 
came  the  lifeless  body  of  poor  Tiernan.  Reverently  and  with 
tender  care  the  precious  remains  were  placed  in  front  of  Manus 
on  the  horse,  and  clasping  the  corpse  close  to  his  bosom,  that 
faithful  vassal  slowly  turned  and  rode  away,  followod  by  his 
comrades,  each  one  of  whom  registered  a vow  in  his  inmost 
heart  that  Hamilton  should  suffer  for  that  day’s  work  if  the 
Lord  spared  them  life. 

Shouts  of  derisive  laughter  from  the  battlements  followed  the 
mournful  cavalcade  on  its  way.  Once,  and  once  only,  Manus 
turned  his  head. 

“ Ye  may  laugh  now,”  he  said  sternly,  “ at  the  load  you  have 
given  us  to  carry  home,  but  remember,  Hamilton,  we  can  send 
you  ten  to  one  !” 

An  arrow  whizzed  past  his  head  as  he  spoke,  missing  its  fatal 
aim  by  little  more  than  a straw’s  breadth  ; following  its  slanting 
course,  it  struck  his  horse  in  the  neck,  but  happily,  with  little 
hurt  to  the  animal,  its  force  being  well  nigh  spent  ere  it  reached 
him. 

“ Ride  on,  my  comrades,”  said  Manus  quickly,  “ or  the  hell- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


105 


hounds  will  not  leave  a soul  of  us  to  bear  these  woful  tidings  ! 
— ride  on  for  Tiernan’s  sake  that  we  may  live  to  revenge,  since 
we  could  not  save  him ! Woe  for  our  valiant  chief  this  day,  and 
woe,  woe  for  us  who  bear  him  such  a burden  !” 

The  responsive  wail  which  burst  from  the  mourning  band  was 
kept  up  with  little  intermission  till  they  came  within  sight  ot 
the  towering  oaks  which’  clothed  the  sides  of  the  Haunted  Hol- 
low. Bare,  and  bleak,  and  gaunt  they  were  as  they  waved  and 
shivered  in  the  blast,  but  still  they  aiforded  a sort  of  shelter  to 
the  cloake  1 and  hooded  forms  of  the  English  ladies  who  were 
seated  on  palfreys  belonging  to  various  members  of  the  family 
of  O’Rourke.  Their  male  companions  were  no  less  decently 
mounted,  and  all  seemed  well  satisfied  with  the  treatment  they 
had  received  from  thoir  Irish  captors.  Little  cared  the  bold 
clansmen  of  O’Rourke  for  the  blustering  blast,  and  they  would 
not  long  have  confined  themselves  to  the  limits  of  the  dell,  were 
they  not  kept  there  by  duty  as  a guard  to  the  prisoners.  They 
were  all  more  or  less,  sharers  in  the  anxiety  with  which  their 
chief  kept  watch  for  the  return  of  his  messengers,  and  the  delay 
of  Manus  and  his  companions  excited  no  small  discontent. 
O’Rourke  himself  was  becoming  impatient,  and  had  just  resolved 
to  move  nearer  to  Manor  Hamilton  for  the  purpose  of  expedi- 
ting the  joyful  meeting  to  which  he  looked  forward.  He  had 
barely  intimated  his  intentions  to  the  prisoners — who,  to  say  the 
truth,  seemel  no  way  anxious  to  be  delivered  to  Hamilton, 
whose  character  was  well  nigh  as  odious  amongst  those  of  his 
own  race  and  creed  as  it  was  amongst  the  Irish — when  his  quick 
ear  caught  the  distant  sound  of  wailing  in  the  very  direction 
from  which  he  expected  his  own  people.  His  attendants,  too, 
heard  the  mournful  sound,  and  a simultaneous  rush  was  made  to 
the  mouth  of  the  glen,  all  looking  at  each  other  with  ghastly  faces, 
but  no  one  daring  to  give  utterance  to  the  fearful  thought  which 
filled  heart  and  brain.  But  near  and  still  nearer  came  the  dismal 
sound,  faintly  heard  at  times  in  the  louder  howling  of  the  blast, 
then  rising  to  a wild  cry  when  the  winds  were  still  a moment. 

“It  is — it  is ,”  cried  O’Rourke  at  last,  and  a paleness  like  that 
of  death  came  over  his  handsome  features;  “it  is  our  own 
5* 


106 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


caoine — oh,  Tiernan ! oh,  my  brother  ! Heaven  grant  it  be  well 
with  yon !” 

A few  moments  more  of  racking  suspense,  amounting  to  all 
but  certainty  of  coming  evil,  and  on  the  brow  of  a hill,  scarce  a 
hundred  yards  distant,  Manus  and  his  party  were  seen  advancing 
with  that  funer.eal  slowness  which  denoted  the  presence  of  death, 
while  louder  and  wilder  rose  the  dirge  as  though  to  give  warn- 
ing of  what  had  happened. 

By  this  time  even  the  strangers  had  noticed  the  change  in  the 
demeanor  of  those  around  them,  and  as  most  of  them  were 
either  Irish  by  birth  or  had  lived  long  enough  on  Irish  soil  to 
know  the  peculiar  customs  of  the  natives,  they  were  at  no  loss 
to  associate  the  visible  agitation  of  the  chief  and  his  followers 
with  the  now  distinct  death-cry.  As  their  own  fate  was  just  then 
interwoven  with  that  of  the  young  O’Rourke,  they,  too,  became 
fearfully  anxious  to  know  whether  evil  had  befallen  him  in  his 
dangerous  captivity. 

Notwithstanding  O’Rourke’s  previous  intention  of  advancing  to 
meet  his  messengers,  he  now  stood  still  as  a statue,  his  eyes 
fixed  with  stony  immobility  on  the  approaching  cortege.  One  of 
his  kinsmen  suddenly  laid  his  hand  on  the  chieftain’s  arm,  and 
asked  in  a thrilling  whisper  what  the  load  might  be  that  Manus 
carried  so  carefully. 

“ I know  not,  but  I partly  guess,  Philip !”  said  O’Rourke  half 
unconsciously,  and  not  another  word  was  spoken  till  the  party 
from  Manor  Hamilton  approached.  With  a scream  of  anguish 
Owen  O’Rourke  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and  received  in  his 
arms  the  cold,  stark  body  of  his  fair  haired  Tiernan,  his  one  bro- 
ther, the  swollen  and  distorted  features  hardly  recognizable,  alas ! 
not  at  all,  save  to  the  unerring  eye  of  agonized  affection. 

“ I knew  it !”  murmured  the  wretched  brother  as  he  clasped 
the  beloved  remains  to  his  bosom  and  gazed  with  tearless  eyes  on 
the  face  but  late  so  beautiful,  now  so  revolting ; “ I knew  it — 
something  told  me  it  was  for  you,  Tiernan ! for  you,  brother  of 
my  heart ! that  the  sons  of  Breffny  raised  the  cry  ! — oh,  Manus  ! 
Manus ! where  were  you — where  were  all  the  others — oh ! God  ! 
where  were  we  all — all — when  Tiernan  O’Rourke  was  butchered 

“ My  eyes  saw  the  deed  done,”  was  Manus’s  stern  reply,  “ and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


107 


I shame  to  live  and  tell  it — but  blame  us  not,  my  chief ! blame 
not  your  faithful  clansmen,  for  the  height  of  Hamilton’s  accursed 
battlements  was  between  us  and  the  incarnate  fiends  who  did  it — 
from  that  height,  O’Rourke,  was  he  flung  to  our  arms  even  as 
you  see  him — think  then  if  we  could  save  him — no,  we  could  not, 
but  we  can  avenge  him — we  have  sworn  it  every  man  of  us !” 

O’Rourke,  sunk  in  a lethargy  of  woe,  heeded  no  more  what 
was  passing  round  him;  neither  the  vengeful  threats,  nor  the 
moans  and  lamentations  of  his  retainers,  the  increasing  wildness  of 
the  storm,  nor  aught  but  his  own  misery  noted  he.  The  first 
sound  of  which  he  was  conscious  was  a vehement  appeal  to  himself 
by  name  from  his  English  prisoners,  and  raising  his  head  sud- 
denly he  saw  Manus  and  some  others  of  his  men  engaged  in  the 
singular  work  of  suspending  their  leathern  girdles  in  the  form 
of  nooses  from  the  branches  of  the  trees  above  them.  Manus 
appeared  to  be  directing  operations  generally,  for,  having  reck- 
oned the  number  of  nooses  already  arranged,  he  called  for  three 
more. 

“ There  are  nine  of  them,”  said  he,  “ and  we  may  as  well  string 
them  all  up  at  once." 

“Manus,”  cried  O’Rourke,  “what,  in  God’s  name,  are  you 
about  V' 

“ Why,  making  ready  to  hang  the  prisoners,  to  be  sure — we 
have  no  place  at  home  better  than  this,  and  it  be  nearer  the 
Manor  for  the  sending  of  them  to  Hamilton.” 

“ Take  down  those  belts !”  was  the  chfeftain’s  stern  rejoinder, 
“ and  go  make  a litter  of  branches  without  loss  of  time  that  we 
may  take  my  brother  home !” 

Some  of  his  men  went  immediately  to  execute  the  latter  com- 
mand, but  the  order  regarding  the  girdles  was  not  so  promptly 
obeyed.  The  clansmen  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  at  their 
chief,  then  furtively  eyed  the  prisoners  with  no  very  friendly 
aspect. 

“ Chief  of  the  Clan  O’Rourke !”  said  Manus  with  a sullenness,  not 
his  own ; “ do  you,  or  do  you  not,  mean  to  revenge  your  brother’s 
blood  r 

“I  do,  and  if  life  is  spared  me  I will,”  said  O’Rourke, 


108 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


‘but  not  by  murder , Manus,  not  by  the  murder  of  innocent 
persons ” 

“ An’  tlieir  lives  are  worth  anything,”  said  Manus  still  unconvinc- 
ed ; “ it  is  to  their  own  they  be  of  value — when  Hamilton  set  no  store 
on  them,  why  should  we  1 — what  were  five  score  of  them  to  us  com- 
pared with  him  who  lies  there  ? Owen  O’Rourke,  mine  eyes  saw 
him  hung — hung  like  a dog — ay ! even  Tiernan,  the  pride  of 
our  name — these  arms  caught  him  when  he  was  flung  like  rotten 
carrion  from  their  walls,  when  they  had  worked  their  devilish 
will  on  him.  I told  Hamilton  we  would  have  revenge — and  first  of 
all  send  him  back  our  prisoners  in  such  wise  as  he  sent  his — I tell 
you,  now,  that  with  my  good  will  these  dainty  Englishers  shall 
never  go  to  him  with  life.  Men  of  Breffny,  what  say  ye 

“ Blood  for  blood !”  was  the  fierce  response  from  every  man 
of  O’Rourke's  party.  “ An’  every  one  of  them  had  as  many 

lives,  let  the  nine  die  as  did  our  Tanist ! ” 

“ Justice  ! justice  on  the  Hamilton  brood !” 

“ Mr.  O'Rourke !”  said  a venerable  gentleman  of  the  prisoners, 
Sir  Robert  Hanna  by  name,  “ Mr.  O’Rourke,  your  people  are  in 
error — I thank  God  there  is  no  connection  of  any  kind  whatso- 
ever between  any  one  of  us  here  present  and  this  bloody-minded 
man,  Hamilton ! Whether  you  carrv  your  generosity  so  far  as  to 
send  us  to  our  friends — for  what  ransom  you  may  please  to  name 
— or  whether  you  yield  us  to  the  vengeance  of  your  people — and 
assuredly  their  demand  is  not  unnatural — but  be  that  as  it  may, 
I beseech  you,  noble  sir,  to  believe  all  of  our  company  your 
humble  debtors,  and,  as  in  duty  bound,  much  grieved  for  the 
heavy  woe  which  has  come  upon  your  house  !” 

“ I believe  you,  Sir  Robert,”  said  O’Rourke  sadly,  “and  you 
say  truly — this  is  a heavy  woe ! — still  no  harm  must  come  to 
you  or  yours  because  of  it — God  forbid  ! Manus  ! as  the  near- 
est of  kin,  to  you  will  I give  this  precious  charge  to  bear 

homeward ” 

“ And  you,  our  chief 

“ I,  with  Philip  and  ten  more  of  our  party,  will  see  these 
strangers  safe  to  the  Manor — at  least  within  sight  of  it.”  There 
was  a quiet  dignity  in  Owen’s  manner  that  impressed  even  his 
equals,  and  inspired  his  clansmen  with  a feeling  deeper  than 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


109 


respect.  Independent  of  his  authority,  his  word  had  absolute 
power  over  them,  because  of  the  high  qualities  of  which  they 
saw  him  possessed,  amongst  others  a certain  firmness  of  purpose, 
amounting  at  times  to  sternness.  There  was  a meaning  in  his 
words  and  in  his  looks  which  his  followers  well  understood,  and 
notwithstanding  that  their  own  convictions  remained  unshaken, 
and  the  fierce  instinct  of  their  warlike  nature  urged  them  to  per- 
sist in  their  clamorous  cry  for  what  they  considered  justice  as 
well  as  revenge,  still  there  was  no  resisting  the  stern  command 
and  the  still  sterner  look  of  their  chief. 

“ Be  it  as  you  will,  O’Rourke  !”  said  Manus,  spokesman  for  the 
rest,  but  his  lowering  brow  and  sullen  tone  showed  the  struggle 
which  it  cost  him  to  obey. 

Meanwhile  the  litter  was  prepared,  and  the  body  of  the  young 
Tiernan  being  carefully  placed  upon  it,  was  slowly  conveyed 
homewards,  amid  the  renewed  lamentations  of  the  brave  clans- 
men who  had  so  often  followed  him  to  danger,  both  by  flood  and 
field.  When  the  final  moment  came,  O’Rourke,  with  all  his 
firmness,  looked  irresolute,  as  it  became  necessary  to  turn  his 
back  on  the  body  of  his  murdered  brother. 

“ Manus,”  said  he,  ££  I have  never  known  you  to  deceive  or 
disobey  me  in  aught.  May  I trust  you  to  convey  these  prisoners 
safe  to  Manor  Hamilton 

“ At  your  bidding,  Owen,  I will  do  it,  though  my  heartstrings 
broke  asunder,  to  do  that  which  may  pleasure  Hamilton.  You 
may  trust  me,  Owen  MacBryan.” 

Some  of  the  prisoners  looked  aghast  at  the  prospect  of  such  an 
escort,  for  whatever  might  be  Owen’s  confidence  in  his  kinsman 
they  had  but  too  much  reason  to  shrink  from  being  left  in  his  power. 
One  of  the  ladies,  a stately  matron  of  mature  years,  was  on  the 
point  of  imploring  the  chieftain  either  to  keep  them  in  his  own 
hands  till  such  time  as  they  could  communicate  with  their  friends, 
or,  if  not  that,  to  carry  out  his  original  purpose  of  conveying  them 
himself  to  Manor  Hamilton,  the  only  fort  within  many  miles  then 
in  the  hands  of  the  English,  but  Sir  Robert  Hanna,  better  under- 
standing the  people  with  whom  they  had  to  deal,  gave  her  an 
admonitory  look,  and  hastily  addressed  the  chief. 

“ Your  pleasure  is  ours,  Mr.  O’Rourke  ! — we  have  seen  enough 


110 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  your  gallant  clansmen  since  we  came  into  your  hands,  to  trust 
our  lives  to  their  honor — cold-blooded  murder  is  foreign  to  their 
nature,  we  feel  assured.  Therefore,  good  Mr.  Manus,  we  are 
ready  to  place  ourselves  in  your  keeping,  though  well  content 
with  our  treatment  in  the  hospitable  halls  of  Drumahair,  and  no 
ways  anxious  to  see  the  inner  parts  of  Manor  Hamilton,  which 
house  is  not  in  over  good  repute  amongst  honest  or  peaceable 
men,  even  of  our  own  nation.  But,  concerning  the  ransom,  Mr. 
O’Rourke,  in  what  way  can  we  send  it  that  it  may  come  safe  to 
your  hands  in  these  unhappy  times  V ’ 

“ Name  it  not,  I pray  you,  Sir  Robert !”  said  the  princely 
O’Rourke,  waving  his  hand  with  a commanding  air ; “ the  chief- 
tain of  Breffny  were  hard  driven,  an’  he  could  not  afford  to  be 
generous  without  hope  of  reward.  An’  ye  feel  yourselves  under 
an  obligation  to  me  or  mine,  you  may  have  occasion  during  these 
troublesome  times  to  discharge  it  by  a similar  act  of  kindness  to 
some  poor  Irish  prisoners  who  may,  perchance,  stand  much  in 
need  of  your  good  offices.  By  saving  from  death  or  torture  even 
one  poor  kern  or  gallowgiass  of  ours,  ye  will  render  to  O’Rourke 
the  ransom  he  most  esteems.  Go  now  with  my  best  wishes  for 
your  safe  and  speedy  arrival  in  your  own  homes,  and  may  ye  find 
them  far  otherwise  than  the  desolate  home  of  O’Rourke !” 

“ And  be  it  our  prayer,  most  generous  and  noble  sir,”  said  the 
lady  before  mentioned,  who  was  indeed  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Robert  Hanna,  “ be  it  our  prayer  to  the  throne  of  grace  that  the 
chances  of  war  may  never  throw  us  into  worse  hands  than  those 
of  the  chieftain  of  Breffny ! This  is  the  second  priceless  boon 
for  which  I and  mine  are  indebted  to  the  nobles  of  your  nation, — 
it  will  go  hard  with  me  an’  one  bitter  enemy,  at  least,  be  not 

softened  towards  you.  If  Sir ” 

A simultaneous  sign  from  the  chieftain  and  her  father  arrested 
the  name  hovering  on  the  lady’s  lips,  and  O’Rourke,  by  an  almost 
imperceptible  gesture,  urged  immediate  departure.  A last  cour- 
teous salute  was  exchanged  between  the  chieftain  and  his  late 
prisoners,  and  then  the  parties  dividing  took  their  separate  way. 

Few  words  passed  between  Manus  and  the  liberated  prisoners. 
He  and  his  men  were  dark  and  sullen  to  the  last  degree,  yet  nor 
word  nor  sign  gave  any  amongst  them,  during  the  miles  which 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Ill 


they  had  to  traverse,  of  any  ill  intent  towards  those  whom  they 
had  in  charge.  When,  at  length,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  towers 
of  the  fortress,  and  Sir  Robert,  on  the  part  of  himself  and  his 
friends,  offered  them  a sum  of  money,  the  offer  was  sternly,  con- 
temptuously rejected. 

“No,  no,  Sassenach!”  cried  Manus,  with  passionate  warmth, 
“ not  so — gift  from  you  would  dye  our  hands  crimson — it  were 
blood-money , 0 stranger ! which  men  of  Breffney  might  not  take, 
and  live !” 

Such  were  Manus’s  parting  words,  as  *ie  shortly  turned  and 
rode  away,  unwilling  to  remain  longer  in  sight  of  a place  for  ever 
hateful  to  him  and  his. 


112 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

“ It  was  no  fire  from  heaven  he  saw, 

For,  far  from  hill  and  dell, 

O’er  Gobbin’s  brow  the  mountain  flaw 
Bears  irftisket-shot  and  yell, 

And  shouts  of  brutal  glee  that  tell 
A foul  and  fearful  tale, 

While  oyer  blast  and  breaker  swell 
Thin  shrieks  and  woman’s  wail. 

“ Now  fill  they  far  the  upper  sky, 

Now  down  mid  air  they  go, 

The  frantic  scream,  the  piteous  cry, 

The  groan  of  rage  and  woe  ; 

And  wilder  in  their  agony 

And  shriller  still  they  grow — 

Now  cease  they,  choking  suddenly, 

The  waves  boom  on  below.” 

Samuel  Ferguson. 


It  was  a wild  bitter  night  in  the  early  part  of  November, — it 
might  have  been  about  the  very  day  so  loved  of  English  mobs, 
when  the  veritable  Guy  Fawkes  appears  again  at  their  bidding 
in  all  the  dark-lanthorn  horrors  of  his  Popish  identity.  The  winds 
were  whistling  drearily  over  the  snow-clad  earth  along  the  bleak 
shore  of  Antrim,  and  the  billows  of  that  boisterous  sea  were  lash- 
ing the  dark  spectral  rocks  with  as  much  fury  as  though  they 
gave  vent  to  some  stormy  passion  long  pent  up  within  their  secret 
depths.  The  gloomy  towers  of  Carrickfergus  rose  dark  and  mas- 
sive at  no  great  distance,  and  the  ancient  town  which  nestles  in 
their  shadow  lay  silent,  and,  as  it  were,  wrapped  in  slumber  around 
the  huge  old  fortress.  A wild  pastoral  tract  of  land  inhabited  at 
that  time  chiefly  by  fishermen,  shepherds  and  goatherds,  stretched 
out  for  miles  into  the  sea  from  the  near  neighborhood  of  the  city. 
It  is  a long,  narrow  peninsula,  girded  on  one  side  by  a range  of 
rocks  whose  crags  assume  the  strangest  and  most  weird  shapes 
imaginable.  These  are  known  to  the  country  round  as  the  Gob- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


113 


bin  Cliffs,  and  many  a tale  of  superstitious  horror  is  connected  in 
the  minds  of  the  surrounding  peasantry  with  their  jutting  shelves 
and  gloomy  caves.  Superstition  has  ever  had  a fitting  home 
amongst  these  geological  phantoms  of  the  coast,  and  bold  were 
the  man  or  woman  esteemed  who  would  venture  after  nightfall 
within  their  haunted  precincts. 

It  was  at  all  times  a dismal  sound,  or  rather  a chorus  of  dismal 
sounds,  to  hear,  when  the  winds  rushed  to  and  fro  amidst  the 
clefts  and  caverns  of  the  Gobbins,  but  on  that  dark  stormy  No- 
vember night  in  the  memorable  year  of  ’41  there  came  such 
unearthly  cries,  and  groans,  and  screams  from  amid  the  haunted 
cliffs  that  it  seemed  as  though  a thousand  demons  were  doing 
their  accursed  will  on  myriads  of  tortured  souls. 

“ God  bless  us  all,  it  is  a fearful  night!”  ejaculated  in  the  Irish 
tongue  a patriarchal  old  man,  who,  in  the  simple  luxury  of  humble 
life,  occupied  a straw-backed  chair  of  ample  dimensions  in  the 
right-hand  chimney-corner  of  a small  cottage  about  midway  on 
the  peninsula,  and  so  close  to  the  rocks  that  not  a sound  from 
thence  escaped  the  ears  of  its  inmates. 

“ You  may  say  that,  Corny !”  responded  his  aged  dame,  who  in 
high-cauled  cap  and  kerchief  white  sat  directly  opposite  plying 
her  wheel.  “ It  is  a fearful  night  sure  enough — God  pity  all  poor 
souls  who  are  at  sea  in  weather  like  this  !”  And  in  her  sympa- 
thy for  those  who  were  so  perilously  exposed,  old  Rosh  Magee 
looked  round  with  a grateful  heart  on  the  snug  and  cozy  little 
spot  which  contained  at  that  moment  all  her  nearest  and  dearest, 
to  wit,  her  venerable  partner  before  mentioned  and  a numerous 
family  of  sons  and  daughters  of  every  age  between  thirty  and 
eighteen,— the  latter  a blooming,  bright-eyed  lass  who  seemed 
on  the  high  road  to  matrimony,  judging  by  the  tender  glances  of 
unmistakeable  meaning  interchanged  between  her  and  an  indi- 
vidual whose  leathern  girdle  displayed  on  its  clasp  the  well- 
known  cognizance  of  the  Red  Hand  as  his  voice  was  marked  by 
the  peculiar  intonation  of  the  “land  of  Owen.” 

“ God  grant  there  be  none  on  sea  to-night  making  their  way 
to  us  /”  said  the  follower  of  O’Neill.  “ An’  there  be,  granny,  I’d 
offer  up  a Pater  and  Ave  myself  for  all  sea-faring  people,  though 
the  devils  in  Dublin  above  may  be  getting  help  too !” 


114 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS 


“ Shamus  aroon ! ’ said  old  Corny  with  a fatherly  smile,  “ there 
be  nothing  in  your  head  hut  the  wars.  But,  sure,  agra ! we 
needn’t  wonder  at  that — it’s  as  natural  for  Tyrone  men  to  fight 
as  it  is  for  a fish  to  swim.  Our  boys  here  be  not  much  better, 
an’  they  had  their  way,  though  God  only  knows  how  they  got 
such  wild  notions  in  their  heads — except  they  come  down  to 
them  from  their  grandfather — God  rest  him ! who  was  out  with 
the  great  Hugh.  For  my  part,  I declare  I never  had  any  turn 

that  way,  and  I’m  sure  I’d  make  a poor  hand  at  a scrimmage ” 

“To  be  sure  you  would  now , father,”  said  his  eldest  son,  a 
fine  young  man  of  some  eight-and-twenty  or  thereabouts,  and  his 
eyes  twinkled  with  sly  meaning. 

“Any  time,  Phelim!— any  time,  even  the  youngest  day 
ever  I was,  I’d  run  a mile  of  ground  sooner  than  I’d  see 
blood  shed — the  Lord  be  praised,  they  say  there’s  not  many  lives 
lost  yet  since  these  troubles  began — that’s  a great  thing  entirely, 
for  if  we  could  get  our  rights  civilly  and  peaceably,  it  would  be 
a blessing  from  God.  But  sure,  sure  that’s  what  we  needn’t 
expect  anyhow  ! — the  Lord  save  us,  children,  did  you  ever  hear 
such  fearsome  cries  from  the  cliffs  abroad  1” 

“ It’s  for  all  the  wrorld,  Corny,”  said  Shamus  Beg,  for  Aileen’s 
favored  suitor  was  none  other  than  that  notable  person,  who  hav- 
ing some  relations  in  that  neighborhood  made  an  excuse  to  go 
there  occasionally  ; “ it’s  for  all  the  world  as  if  every  Banshee  in 
Ireland  was  gathered  about  the  Gobbins  this  night — or  maybe 
they’re  spirits  from  beyond  the  water  crying  the  Englishers  that 
are  to  fall  in  these  wars.” 

“ Or  witches  from  Scotland,  Shamus,”  suggested  Aileen  with 
her  mirthful  smile ; “ who  knows  but  they  followed  the  Scotch 
red-coats  here  abroad  in  the  Castle — Christ  save  us,”  she  added, 
with  a shudder,  “ they  have  a bad  look  about  them — the  same 
red-coats — myself  never  meets  one  of  them  when  I go  into 
town  with  eggs  or  butter,  or  anything  that  way,  but  I feel  in  a 
hurry  to  get  past  him — a kind  of  a weakness  comes  over  mo 
somehow  —isn’t  it  strange,  mother  dear  V’ 

“ Take  me  with  you,  when  you  go,”  said  Shamus  jocosely, 
u though  I’m  in  hopes  it  isn’t  long  they’ll  be  in  it  to  frighten  you 
— we’ll  scatter  the  nest  some  of  these  days  and  make  the  place 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


115 


too  hot  for  them  as  we  did  at  Charlemont  and  Dungannon, 
and  all  the  rest  of  them.  When  the  money,  and  the  big  guns, 
and  everything  comes  to  us  from  foreign  parts  —and  that  will  be 
soon  now,  please  the  Lord ! — you’ll  see  how  we’ll  send  Monroe 
and  his  villainous  looking  cut-throats  about  their  business — just 
wait  a little,  Aileen,  and  it’s  me  and  the  like  of  me  you’ll  see 
mounting  guard  at  the  Castle  within,  and  maybe  it’s  myself 
won't  be  watching  for  the  pretty  girls  coming  in  and  out  with 
baskets  on  their  arms,  when  I’m  standing  at  the  gates  with 
my  musket  at  my  shoulder — and  the  boys  here — faith  we’ll 
make  corporals  and  sergeants  of  them  at  the  very  start — eh, 
Rosh  1 — won’t  them  be  the  times — and  you  and  Corny  and  the 
girls  will  be  coming  in  to  Mass,  Sundays  and  holidays,  to  our 
darling  fine  chapel  where  the  blackguard  Scotch  ministers  spend 
their  time  on  God’s  holy  day  cramming  murder  and  robbery  and 
all  sorts  of  wickedness  again  Catholics  down  the  throats  of  their 
hearers ! Lham  derg  aboo ! but  it’s  ourselves  will  send  them 
where  they  came  from  in  double  quick  time,  when  once  we  get 
the  cannon !” 

The  caper  which  Shamus  cut  at  the  conclusion  of  this  har- 
angue made  the  girls  laugh,  but  the  young  men,  catching  a share 
of  his  enthusiasm,  swallowed  every  word  with  avidity,  and  testi- 
fied by  unequivocal  signs  their  intense  desire  to  be  with  and  of 
that  grand  army  of  Sir  Phelim’s  which  was  doing,  and  would 
yet . do,  such  wonders  on  behalf  of  the  oppressed  Catholics. 
Seeing  this,  the  old  couple  took  the  alarm  at  once,  and  Corny 
hastened  to  put  a damper  on  the  martial  ardor  of  his  sons. 

“ War  is  a fine  thing,”  he  observed  with  a discouraging  shake 
of  the  head,  “ when  people  have  it  all  their  own  way,  and  so  long 
as  it  stays  far  off — but  God  keep  it  away  from  us,  that’s  all  I 
say !” 

“Why,  Corny,  man!”  cried  Shamus,  more  than  a little  nettled 
by  this  show  of  indifference  which,  had  he  seen  the  old  man’s 
heart,  he  would  have  placed  to  its  proper  account,  viz.,  the 
natural  affection  of  the  father  struggling  with  the  hopes  and 
wishes  of  the  patriot —“  why,  Corny,  man,  what’s  come  over  you 
at  all— you  talk  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  the  Sassenachs  in 
the  Pale  above  —sure  you  ought  to  know  as  well  as  we  do  that 


116 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


there’s  nothing  left  for  us  but  to  fight  the  battle  out  - things 
could’nt  go  on  as  they  were— every  one  knows  that- and.  as  I 
have  heard  Rory  O’Moore,  and  Sir  Phelim,  and  other  great,  long- 
headed men  saying  a hundred  times  over,  fair  means  were  tried 
long  enough,  and  when  they  didn’t  do,— when  things  were  get- 
ting worse  from  day  to  day  in  place  of  better,  what  could  the 
people  do,  or  the  chiefs  —tell  me  that,  now,  Corny This  was  a 
“ clincher,”  and  the  old  man  having  no  such  answer  ready  as  he 
would  willingly  give,  hesitated  and  looked  at  Rosh,  as  though 
expecting  aid  from  her  in  so  great  an  emergency,  while  Sliamus 
glanced  around  with  a triumphant  air  to  gather  the  suffrages  of 
his  younger  auditors,  all  of  whom,  but  especially  the  young  men, 
appeared  to  enjoy  the  old  man’s  discomfiture. 

But  Rosh  was  a powerful  auxiliary,  a host  in  herself,  and  she 
stopped  her  wheel  to  pronounce  her  opinion,  which  she  did  in  a 
very  dictatorial  manner : 

“ I never  want  to  see  the  face  of  a soldier,  Shamus  Beg — do 
you  hear  that  now  1 And  it’s  thankful  I’d  be  if  you’d  leave  your 
game-cock  notions  behind  you  when  you  come  to  Island  Magee 
• — where  you’re  always  welcome  only  to  do  as  I tell  you — the 
wars  are  keeping  away  well  from  us,  thanks  be  to  God  for  that 
same ! and  I tell  you  what  it  is,  Shamus,  as  long  as  they  let  us 
alone,  we’ll  let  them  alone ! Girls ! isn’t  it  time  some  of  you  was 
seeing  about  the  supper  I Shamus  will  be  none  the  worse  for 
something  to  eat !” 

These  words  put  Aileen  and  her  sister  Cauth  in  motion,  and 
under  their  hospitable  cares,  Shamus’s  wants  would  doubtless 
have  been  well  provided  for,  but  the  meal  they  went  about  pre- 
paring was  never  ready, — the  oaten  cakes  which  Aileen’s  taper 
fingers  shaped  and  placed  before  the  peat  fire  were  never  tasted 
by  Shamus,  nor  yet  the  fresh  eggs  which  Cauth  put  down  to 
boil,  for,  just  as  their  culinary  labors  had  reached  that  stage,  a 
roaring,  rushing  sound  swept  past  on  the  land  side,  screams  of 
anguish  and  of  terror  were  heard  mingling  with  shouts  of  wrath 
and  execration,  and  the  clashing  of  sharp  weapons  and  the  report 
of  musketry  or  other  fire-arms — all  near  enough  to  be  distinctly 
audible  in  Corny  Magee’s  cottage,  the  terrified  inmates  of  which 
started  to  their  feet  and  held  their  breath  to  listen. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


117 


“ Rosh !”  said  Shamus  Beg  in  a hurried  whisper,  “if  the  trou- 
bles never  came  before,  they’re  on  you  now — God  in  heaven  save 
ye  all !” 

“ Why,  Shamus,  dear,”  cried  the  old  man,  “ what  can  it  be  at 
all  ? Oh  Lord ! — oh  Lord ! hear  them  shrieks — oh  Rosh ! — oh 
children ! what  will  we  do — -what  will  we  do,  if  it’s  the  bloody 
Scotch  red-coats  that  are  /out  ?”  And  the  old  man  wrung  his 
hands  in  piteous  agony,  while  his  aged  wife  fell  on  her  knees  be- 
fore a rude  picture  of  the  Virgin  which  graced  the  wall  near  her. 

“ As  sure  as  God’s  in  heaven,  Corny,  it’s  them  and  no  other,” 
again  whispered  Shamus,  whose  practised  ear  had  already  dis- 
tinguished the  foreign  tongue  amid  the  horrible  din  of  slaughter 
which  came  every  moment  nearer. 

“ Father,”  said  the  eldest  son  Phelim,  as  he  sliudderingly 
glanced  at  his  old  mother  and  his  fair  blooming  sisters,  “ father, 
it  were  not  so  bad  to  be  a soldier  now — a score  or  two  of  the 
O’Neills  or  Magennises  with  pikes  in  their  hands  were  worth  their 
weight  in  gold  this  night.” 

“ Alas  ! alas  !”  groaned  Shamus,  “ if  Sir  Phelim  did  but  know 
of  this — but  och  ! there’s  many  a long  mile  between  him  and  us 
this  miserable  hour — oh  holy  St.  Columb  ! hear  ye  that?  Why, 
they’re  not  a hundred  yards  off! — oh  ! the  treacherous,  bloody 
villains  to  come  in  the  night  and  murder  all  before  them  without 
rhyme  or  reason — creatures,  too,  that  never  done  or  said  them 
ill — boys ! boys  ! have  ye  no  arms  of  any  kind  ?”  He  cried  in 
despair  as  the  tumult  came  rushing  on.  No  weapon  either 
offensive  or  defensive  did  the  house  contain,  but  each  of  the  four 
sons  laid  hold  of  some  household  implement  which  might  answer 
the  purpose — even  the  old  man  snatched  with  the  energy  of  des- 
pair a sickle  from  under  the  thatch,  and  placed  himself  with  his 
sons  in  front  of  the  trembling,  fainting  group  of  females,  his 
shaking  hand  clutching  the  weapon  with  a desperation  that  was 
fearful  to  look  upon. 

“ I tell  you  all,”  cried  Shamus  wildly,  “ that  there’s  no  earthly 
use  in  your  staying  here — you’d  be  butchered,  every  soul  of  you, 
like  sheep — and  even  that  were  perchance  not  the  worst  of  it !” 
His  heart  sickened  at  the  hideous  thought  that  presented  itself  to 
his  mind,  and  seizing  Aileen  by  the  arm,  he  opened  the  back- 


118 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


door — which  he  knew  led  to  the  shore — calling  on  the  others  to 
follow  for  life  or  death. 

“ There  may  yet  be  time  to  get  among  the  rocks,”  he  muttered, 
as,  clasping  the  sinking  form  of  Aileen  he  dashed  out — not  into 
the  darkness  he  fondly  hoped  to  find,  but  alight  more  glaring  than 
that  of  day,  the  lurid  light  from  homesteads  burning  in  all  direc- 
tions. At  this  sight  a wild  shriek  burst  from  one  of  the  affrighted 
damsels,  and  old  Rosh  dropped  on  the  threshold. 

“ Mother  of  God!  we’re  done  for  now!”  whispered  Sharnus  in 
despair,  and  still  holding  fast  by  Aileen,  he  seized  the  benumbed 
and  paralyzed  old  man  by  the  arm,  and  attempted  to  drag  him 
onwards.  * But  Corny  would  not  go  without  Rosh,  and  jerking 
himself  out  of  Shamus’s  grasp  with  a strength  and  agility  little 
to  be  expected  from  his  seeming  frailty,  he  stooped  over  the 
sensefess  partner  of  forty  years,  and  with  the  help  of  one  of  his 
sons  had  succeeded  in  raising  her  to  a sitting  posture,  when  a 
wild  shriek  from  some  of  the  fugitives  made  them  start,  and 
roused  the  old  woman  to  sudden  consciousness.  It  was  only  to 
see  her  husband  and  son  struck  down  by  the  butt  end  of  two 
muskets,  and  the  next  instant  her  scream  of  agony  was  silenced 
by  a bayonet  thrust  down  her  throat — she  fell  back  a lifeless 
corpse  against  the  wall  of  her  cottage,  her  snowy  kerchief  crim- 
soned with  her  own  blood  and  that  of  her  aged  husband.  Shouts 
of  fiendish  laughter  followed,  as  some  half  dozen  of  the  murder- 
ers trampling  over  the  dead  bodies  rushed  to  set  fire  to  the  house, 
while  twice  as  many  of  their  comrades  darted  off  in  pursuit  of 
the  fugitives.  Alas|  the  chase  was  of  short  duration — encum- 
bered with  the  weight  of  their  shrieking  sisters,  the  brothers  could 
make  but  little  progress,  and  in  their  vain  efforts  to  save 

“ from  outrage  worse  than  death” 

the  pure  and  loving  ones  who  clung  to  them  as  their  last 
and  only  hope,  they  fell  one  after  another.  But  where, 
meanwhile,  was  Sharnus  Beg — had  he  basely  deserted  his 
betrothed  in  that  moment  of  death  and  danger,  and  left 
her  a prey  to  the  savage  fury  of  incarnate  demons  rioting  in 
blood'?  No,  sooner  might  the  lioness  abandon  her  young  to 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


119 


the  pursuing  hunter  than  Shamus  Beg  O’Hagan  leave  the  girl  of 
his  heart  under  s'uch  circumstances.  Neither  turning  to  right  nor 
left,  nor  once  casting  a look  behind,  on,  on  he  dashed  with  a speed 
more  than  human  across  the  level  snow-plain  which  lay  between 
him  and  the  rocks,  his  left  arm  still  encircling  the  now  senseless 
Aileen,  while  his  right  hand  grasped  the  trusty  skene,  which  he 
meant  to  plunge  into  her  bosom  should  their  ruffian  pursuers  once 
come  within  reach.  In  his  heart  he  thanked  God  for  Aiieen’s  happy 
unconsciousness,  as  he  heard  the  oaths  and  threats  and  hideous 
laughter  of  the  infuriated  soldiers,  their  heavy  footsteps  crushing 
the  frozen  snow  as  on  they  dashed — near  and  more  near  they 
came  till  poor  Shamus  fancied  he  could  hear  the  laboring  breath 
of  the  foremost,  and  by  that  time  his  own  strength  was  failing 
fast.  Oh,  God ! how  wildly  he  scanned  the  space  yet  lying 
between  him  and  safety — or  if  not  safety,  at  least  escape — every 
cranny  and  cleft  of  the  rocks  thereabouts  was  known  to  him,  and 
already  his  straining  eye  was  fixed  on  a certain  point  right 
before  him — it  was  only  a few  yards  off — a second  or  two  would 
bring  him  there,  but,  alas  ! a gully  lay  between — a brackish, 
briny  streamlet  or  creek,  which  a thousand  times  he  had  leaped 
across  in  boyish  sport — but  now— now — when  death — and  mad- 
dening danger  were  close  upon  him — when  the  most  hideous 
of  all  fates  was  about  to  fall  on  her  for  whom  he  would  have 
given  an  hundred  lives — now  when  the  breath  of  the  pursuing 
savages  was  unmistakeably  in  his  ear — faint  and  exhausted  with 
the  weight  of  his  precious  burden  and  the  superhuman  exertions 
he  had  made,  he  felt  that  the  attempt  was  beyond  his  utmost 
strength,  and  his  blood  ran  cold  as  he  reached  the  brink.  There 
was  no  time  for  hesitation— not  even  an  instant,  and  breathing 
from  his  heart  a fervent  “Mary  Mother!  now  or  never!”  he 
sprang  over  the  chasm  with  a lightness  that  amazed  himself,  and 
drew  a shout  of  admiration  even  from  the  ruthless  Scotchmen 
—three  or  four  of  whom  reached  one  bank  as  he  gained  the 
other. 

“ Saul ! but  that’s  a braw  lad  for  a wild  Irishman ! ’twas  a 
bold  leap  that,  I tell  ye  !” 

“But  the  lassie — the  bonnie  lassie,  Alick,  pitch  him  to  the 
de’il,  but  we’ll  have  her  or  I’m  no  Lindsay ! Here’s  for  her  !’ 


120 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  the  fellow  was  about  to  spring  over  the  chasm  when  one 
of  his  comrades  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

“ Hoot  awa  ! Jamie  Lindsay,  are  you  gone  daft  or  what  'l — see 
you  no  that  the  boiling  sea  is  ahint  them  rocks — that  callan 
kens  the  place  weel — he  may  chance  to  lead  you  an  ill  dance 
there  awa.  The  spot  is  no  canny,  ye  see  weel !” 

“ Canny  or  no,  I’ll  see  it  out !”  cried  Lindsay,  “ I’m  bent  on 
having  that  lass,  an’  the  tramp  we  hae  had  after  her  !” 

“ 1 tell  you,  Scot,  you’ll  never  lay  a hand  on  her!”  cried  Sha- 
mus,  from  the  elevated  point  which  he  had  now  gained ; “ though 
every  devil’s  imp  of  your  crew  was  there  on  that  bank,  I could 
dare  ye  all  now — a drop  of  my  blood  you’ll  never  spill,  nor  nearer 
shall  one  of  you  ever  be  to  this  ‘ bonnie  lass,’  as  you  well  call 
her  ! Death  before  dishonor  is  a word  with  us  Irish.  I’ll  leave 
my  chief,  Sir  Phelim  O'Neill , to  settle  with  you  for  this — you’ll 
pay  dear  for  this  night’s  work — take  my  word  for  it — ay  ! every 
egg  and  bird  of  your  accursed  brood  !” 

“ Hear  till  him  now,”  shouted  the  enraged  Scots,  “ hear  till  the 
senseless  braggart !”  and  loudly  they  laughed  in  scorn  and  hate 
but  louder  laughed  Shamus  Beg,  when  seeing  his  savage  foes 
about  to  overleap  the  ravine,  he  sank  down  behind  the  rock  with 
his  still  unconscious  burden,  and  a heavy  plash  in  the  waters  far 
below  reached  the  ears  of  the  awed  and  terrified  Scotchmen,  even 
amid  the  roaring  of  wave  and  wind.  Warned  thus  of  the  fate 
which  awaited  themselves  if  they  ventured  to  scale  the  fearful 
barrier,  and  awed  in  spite  of  themselves  by  this  episode  in  the 
night’s  bloody  tragedy,  they  said  little  to  each  other  on  the  sub- 
ject, as  they  turned  to  retrace  their  steps  to  the  burning  cabin  of 
Corny  Magee.  There,  however,  they  found  none  of  their  com- 
rades— the  work  of  destruction  being  completed,  the  place  was 
left  to  the  silent  dead  aud  the  crackling  flames.  It  was  meet 
cause  for  mirth  to  the  disappointed  ruffians  that  the  body  of 
poor  B-osh  was  well  nigh  consumed,  and  as  one  of  them  gave  a 
kick  to  the  venerable  head  of  Corny,  where  it  lay  across  the  path, 
with  its  white  locks  dabbled  in  gore,  it  furnished  him  with  a 
ribald  jest  for  the  present  and  future  entertainment  of  his  com- 
panions. 

When  the  bugles  called  the  marauders  together,  an  hour  after, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


121 


they  presented  a hideous  sight ; smutted  and  begrimed  they 
were  with  the  smoke  of  many  dwellings,  and  marked  like  Cain 
with  the  murderer’s  brand  stamped  in  the  blood  of  their  victims.* 
They  had  glutted  their  national  and  religious  hatred  of  the  Irish 
to  their  hearts’  content,  and  were  drunk  with  the  fulness  of  their 
bloody  feasting.  Yet  they  talked  in  Scriptural  cant  of  the  good 
work  they  had  been  doing,  and  the  salutary  terror  which  such  an 
example  would  strike  into  the  Moabitish  rebels.  And  it  did 
seem  as  though  the  Lord  had  abandoned  his  faithful  people  into 
the  hands  of  those  merciless  executioners,  who  came  upon  them 
when  least  expected  in  the  darkness  and  storm  of  night.  Of 
all  the  gallant  chieftains  who  were  then  in  arms  with  their  legions 
of  brave  followers,  to  repel  the  aggressions  of  bigotry  and  legal- 
ized rapine,  not  one  was  near  in  that  dark  hour  to  save  the  un- 
offending peasantry  of  Island  Magee  from  the  exterminating 
sword  of  fanatical  ruffians.  Where  were  O’Neill  and  O'Reilly, 
McMahon  and  Maguire,  on  that  fatal  night,  when  the  maids  and 
matrons  of  that  old  Catholic  race  were  shrieking  and  struggling 
in  the  grasp  of  Munroe’s  soldiers  1 Ah  ! they  were  far,  far  away, 
little  dreaming  of  the  foul  butchery  which,  on  that  night,  com- 
menced the  work  of  slaughter  in  the  northern  province.  B ut,  if 
they  were  not  within  ken,  there  was  an  eye  that  witnessed  all, 
and  a power  that  armed  those  leaders  with  might  and  strength  to 
revenge  that  massacre.  If  blood  could  wash  out  the  stain  of 
blood  then  was  the  torrent  that  flowed  that  night,  on  the  wild 
Antrim  shore,  effaced  from  the  soil  it  saturated,  for  the  memory 
of  that  atrocious  deed,  thenceforward,  nerved  the  arms  and  steeled 
the  hearts  of  the  Ulster  chieftains,  and  if  ever  wanton  slaughter 
was  avenged  it  was  that  of  Island  Magee. 


* Tlie  number  of  those  slain  in  the  massacre  of  Island  Magee  is  so 
variously  estimated,  that  it  is  hard  to  arrive  at  any  accurate  conclu- 
sion respecting  it.  By  Catholic  writers  it  is  said  to  have  amounted  to 
three  thousand,  while  no  respectable  Protestant  historian  attempts  to 
make  it  less  than  “thirty  families.”  The  victims  must,  in  any  case, 
have  numbered  many  hundreds,  from  the  actu  id  extent  of  the  district, 
viz.,  seven  miles.  Even  the  ultra-Protestant,  Leland,  speaks  of  the 
affair  as  an  “ infernal  massacre.’ 

6a 


122 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Next  morning  the  wintry  sun  rose  over  the  peninsula,  with  a 
keen  and  frosty  radiance,  and  it  shone  on  black  roofless  walls 
and  the  shattered  remains  of  household  furniture,  and,  sadder 
than  all,  on  unburied  corpses,  some  of  them  partially,  others 
wholly,  charred  and  burnt,  while  others  still  lay  singly  or  in  heaps 
on  the  highway,  where  they  had  been  overtaken  in  their  attempt- 
ed flight,  these  last  bruised  and  shattered  by  the  iron-shod  boots 
of  their  slayers  trampling  them  to  and  fro.  Terror  and  conster- 
nation, at  this  dreadful  news,  had  so  far  overcome  the  Catholic 
people  of  the  adjoining  country,  that  the  day  was  far  advanced 
before  any  of  them  ventured  to  approach  the  scene  of  the  slaugh- 
ter, either  to  seek  the  living — if  life  were  yet  to  be  found  there — 
or  to  give  sepulture  to  the  dead. 

In  the  early  morning,  long  before  the  first  of  these  parties 
visited  the  place,  two  men  had  appeared  there  at  different  times, 
^ coming  stealthily  and  slowly  from  opposite  directions.  Each  in 
turn  made  his  way  to  Corny  Magee’s  cottage,  now  a pile  of 
smoking  clay  walls  and  smouldering  thatch.  The  first  who  came 
was  Plielim,  the  eldest  son  of  the  murdered  family.  He  had  es  • 
caped  almost  by  a miracle  the  fate  of  all  his  kindred,  though  his 
bandaged  head  and  his  right  arm  supported  in  a sling  showed 
that  he  had  not  been  altogether  forgotten  in  the  distribution  of 
the  Scottish  favors.  No  thanks  to  them  that  Phelim  was  not 
still  under  the  mangled  corpses  of  one  brother  and  two  sisters, 
Avhere  he  had  been  left  for  dead.  At  midnight  he  recovered  his 
senses,  and  with  much  difficulty  extricated  himself  from  his  fear- 
ful position,  for  the  death-grasp  of  his  sisters  held  him  as  in  a 
vice,  and  the  unnatural  weight  of  three  dead  bodies  was  a crush- 
ing load  for  a living  man,  wounded,  too,  as  he  was.  But  at  last 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  his  clothes  stiff  upon  him  with  the  blood  of 
his  murdered  relatives,  as  he  saw  by  the  flickering  and  uncertain 
light  from  the  still  burning  ruins.  His  first  thought  was  one  of 
gratitude  to  Heaven  for  so  signal  an  interposition  of  its  mercy, 
his  next  to  seek  some  place  of  shelter  from  the  bitter  northern 
blast  until  morning’s  light  should  enable  him  to  look  after  the 
remaining  members  of  his  family,  of  whose  fate  he  had  little 
doubt.  Before,  he  left  the  spot,  however,  he  stooped  and  turned 
over  in  succession  each  of  the  three  before  him.  in  order  to  as- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


123 


certain  whether  life  remained  in  any  of  them.  Alas  ! they  were 
all  dead — dead,  stiff  and  cold  as  death  and  frost  could  make 
them.  With  an  instinctive  horror  that  almost  froze  his  blood, 
poor  Phellm  then  moved  towards  the  cottage,  and  who  may  de- 
scribe his  feelings,  who  may  even  imagine  them,  when  right 
across  his  path  he  beheld  the  mangled  corpse  of  his  father,  and 
a step  or  two  farther  on,  by  a portion  of  the  brown-drugget  gown, 
which  still  covered  her  lower  limbs,  he  recognized  the  half-con- 
sumed body  of  his  mother!  No  sigh,  no  groan  escaped  the  son 
as  he  bent  over  the  ghastly  remains  of  his  beloved  parents — the 
grief  and  the  horror  and  the  sense  of  desolation  which  paralyzed 
his  being  left  but  one*feeling  acute  — one  passion  dominant— who 
cannot  guess  what  that  feeling,  that  passion  was — the  feeling  was 
hatred , the  passion  revenge , and  from  that  hour  Phelim  Magee 
lived  but  to  gratify  both.  All  softer  emotions  were  thenceforth 
banished  his  heart,  and  his  nature,  hitherto  so  genial,  became 
hard,  hard  as  stone. 

On  the  following  morning  when  Phelim  emerged  from  the 
sheltering  walls  of  a neighboring  cottage  which  had  escaped  the 
fire,  he  found  an  individual  whom,  even  at  a distance,  he  knew  to 
be  Shamus  Beg,  standing  with  folded  anus  looking  down  on  his 
father’s  dead  face.  It  was  a joyful  surprise  for  each  of  the  young 
men  to  see  the  other,  and  the  silent  greeting  which  they  ex- 
changed was  as  glad  as  it  was  sorrowful.  By  a common  impulse 
they  knelt  on  the  bloody  snow,  but  neither  heard  what  the  other 
uttered.  When  they  arose,  sad  and  stern,  Phelim  said : 

“What  of  Aileen,  Shamus  1 ~ is  she  gone,  tool”  A dismal 
shake  of  the  head  was  O’Hagan’s  answer,  and  Phelim  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  groaned  aloud.  But  Shamus  did  not 
suffer  him  to  remain  long  in  his  lethargy  of  woe.  Laying  his 
hand  on  his  arm,  he  said  briskly : 

“What’s  to  be  done  with  these  I”  pointing  to  the  bodies. 
“ And  these  1”  added  Phelim,  leading  the  way  to  where  his  bro- 
ther and  sisters  lay.  “ And  Aileen  and  the  others,  wherever 
they  are.” 

It  was  then  agreed  that  they  should  go  up  on  the  mainland 
and  seek  assistance  amongst  their  friends  there,  in  order  to  per- 
form the  solemn  rite  of  burial. 


124 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ There’s  one  thing  to  be  done  before  we  leave  the  spot,”  said 
Shamus  with  stern  emphasis,  “ and  after  that  we’ll  go  look  for 
our  poor  Aileen  and  the  rest!”  He  extended  his  hand  to  Phelim 
across  the  old  man’s  body,  and  the  son,  at  no  loss  for  his  mean- 
ing, joined  him  in  a solemn  vow  to  do  battle  against  the  Scotch 
murderers  and  all  who  took  part  with  them  as  long  as  breath 
remained  in  their  bodies.  By  way  of  ratifying  their  solemn  com- 
pact, each  laid  his  hand  on  the  face  of  the  corpses,  and  then 
rising  they  stood  a moment  silent,  surveying  the  awful  scene. 

“ That  will  do  now !”  said  Shamus  at  length,  as  he  turned  to 
commence  his  journey.  “ When  we  have  found  the  others” — 
here  his  voice  trembled—  “ I must  leave  you  to  do  the  rest — Sir 
Phelim  must  have  word  of  this  before  the  sun  sets,  and  I would 
that  my  tongue  should  have  the  telling  of  it ! Let  us  off  now  on 
our  search,  and  first  for  Aileen !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


125 


CHAPTER  X. 

Superior  worth  your  rank  requires  ; 

For  that,  mankind  reveres  your  sires  , 

If  you  degenerate  from  yonr  race, 

Their  merit  heightens  your  disgrace.” 

Gay’s  Fables. 

“ Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene; 

The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for  meu, 

Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I claim, 

The  first  in  danger,  and  the  first  in  fame.” 

Pope’s  Iliad. 

It  was  a grand  and  stately  edifice,  dating  from  mediaeval  times, 
turreted  and  castellated  for  purposes  of  defence,  as  became  the 
dwelling  of  a princely  house,  with  crenellated  walls  and  lofty 
curtains  uniting  the  various  towers,  and  tall,  narrow  windows, 
most  of  them  splayed  so  as  to  give  much  more  light  to  the  inte- 
rior than  might  be  expected  from  their  outward  dimensions. 
This  noble  old  building,  old  even  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a spacious  park,  whose  venerable 
woods  of  oak,  and  birch,  and  hazel,  were  in  keeping  with  the 
lordly  character  of  the  dwelling.  The  neighborhood,  too,  wa3 
rich  in  picturesque  beauty,  for  the  matchless  valley  of  the  Suir  lay 
spread  beneath,  and  the  noble  river  rolled  its  silvery  waters  sea- 
ward through  the  lovely  scene,  the  whole  enlivened  by  the  even 
then  prosperous  town  of  Carrick-on-Suir.* 

In  a spacious  apartment  of  the  baronial  dwelling  thus  situate, 

* “ I know  of  few  finer  prospects,”  says  Mr.  Inglis,  the  famous  tra- 
veller, “ than  the  valley  of  the  Suir  presents  as  it  opens  upon  one  from 

the  heights  abovo  Carrick I do  not  think  it  is  equalled 

by  the  vale  of  Clwyd.” 


126 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


about  the  last  days  of  October,  in  the  year  of  1611,  the  noble 
owner  first  received  the  intelligence  of  the  great  rebellion  in 
Ulster,  transmitted  to  him  in  all  haste  from  the  terrified  and 
vacillating  officials  of  Dablin  Castle.  A gentleman  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Parsons’  household  bore  the  despatches,  and  the  number  of 
his  well-armed  escort,  while  it  showed  the  fears  of  the  Lords 
Justices,  made  the  lord  of  the  Castle  smile,  knowing  as  he  did 
that  however  tilings  might  be  in  Ulster — by  this  official  showing 
— there  was  not  an  illegal  mouse  stirring  in  that  part  of  Munster. 

But  the  tidings' brought  were  grave  and  important,  and  with  a 
very  grave  countenance  the  nobleman  heard  them.  No  one  knew 
better  than  he  the  many  and  grievous  causes  of  complaint 
on  which  the  native  chiefs  based  their  rebellion,  and  no  one 
knew  better,  either,  than  he  the  persevering  resistance  of  which 
they  were  capable,  and  the  trouble  they  were  likely  to  give 
the  government  when  banded  together  in  the  sacred  names  of 
Religion  and  Justice.  His  fine  countenance  darkened  more 
and  more  as  he  read  of  the  rapid  success  of  O'Neill  and  his 
friends  in  Ulster,  and  when  at  length  the  official  document 
closed  with  an  earnest  hope  that  his  lordship  would  hasten  to 
Dublin  without  delay  in  order  to  assume  the  chief  command 
against  the  rebels,  an  ironical  smile  flitted  across  the  darkness, 
giving  a strange  expression  to  his  features. 

Turning  towards  the  expectant  envoy,  he  was  about  to  speak, 
when  the  latter,  bowing  lowly,  said  by  way  of  appendix:  “ Their 
chiefest  hope  is  in  my  Lord  of  Ormond !” 

“ My  Lord  of  Ormond  is  much  beholden  to  them,”  the  noble- 
man replied,  with  the  same  cold,  calm  smile ; “ their  lordships  are 
well  aware  that  for  the  king’s  necessity  they  may  command  my 
poor  services,  and  I thank  them  for  so  signal  a mark  of  their 
good  opinion.  With  G-od’s  help,  I will  do  what  in  me  lies — after 
I have  heard  from  the  king’s  majesty !” 

“But,  my  lord,  the  affair  is  urgent,”  ventured  to  suggest  the 
messenger,  “ an’  the  rebels  go  on  as  they  are  doing,  Dablin 
itself  will  not  be  safe  ere  many  days  go  by  !” 

“ How  is  it  with  the  Catholic  English  of  the  Palel”  demanded 
Ormond  suddenly,  without  at  all  heeding  the  remonstrance  so 
humbly  offered ; “I  find  no  mention  of  them  in  these  despatches.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


127 


a They  have  not  joined  the  rebels — as  yet , ray  good  lord ! — but 
I have  heard  said  that  the  Lords  Justices  trust  them  none  the 
more.  The  chief  men  amongst  them  were  at  the  Castle  betimes 

on  the  first  day  after  the  news  of  the  rebellion  came  in ” 

“ They  were  1 — on  what  business,  I pray  you  V’ 

“ Making  a tender  of  their  loyal  services  to  the  government, 
my  lord,  and  soliciting  arms  for  the  defence  of  their  castles 
against  the  rebels.” 

“ And  they  doubtless  got  theml” 

“ Ay,  marry,  did  they,”  and  the  gentleman  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  looked  up  with  a half  quizzical  expression  into  the  dark, 
passionless  face  above  him,  where  nothing  was  to  be  read  save 
dignified  attention.  £<  But  how  long  they  may  have  them  passes 
my  poor  ability  to  say.  I did  hear  Sir  William  Parsons  say  but 
yesterday  that  they  were  all  traitors  at  heart,  and  that  he  would 
as  soon  trust  Maguire  or  McMahon— whom  God  has  even  now 
delivered  unto  us — as  Dunsany  or  Netterville,  or  Gonnanstown 
himself,  for  all  their  smooth  speeches !” 

“ But  Maguire  and  McMahon — be  they,  then,  in  prison  V* 

“ Even  so,  my  lord!  they  be  safe  as  bolt  and  bar  can  make 
them — they  were  trapped  like  bag-foxes  even  in  their  own  lodg- 
ings in  Dublin  the  night  before  the  rising  in  Ulster.  There  was 
a nest  of  them  gathered  in  the  city  with  intent  to  seize  the  Castle 
next  day  when  their  wretched  kerns  got  in  from  the  north.  But 
the  Lord — even  the  Lord  of  Hosts — saw  their  bloody  designs  and 
His  arm  smote  them  and  gave  them  bound  and  manacled  into  our 
hands ” 

“Who  waits  without V*  demanded  the  Earl,  and  when  one  of 
his  pages  appeared  at  the  door  he  commanded  him  to  give  the 
gentleman  in  charge  to  the  steward  o?  the  household  so  that  all 
proper  attention  might  be  paid  to  his  wants  and  those  of  his  atten- 
dants. “ Meanwhile,  sir,  I will  prepare  my  answer  to  the  Lords 
J ustices,”  and  so  saying  he  dismissed  him  with  an  imperious  ges- 
ture, whereat  the  follower  of  Parsons  wondered  mightily  and  was 
much  abashed,  saying  to  himself  as  he  followed  the  page  through 
the  ante-room  where  numerous  attendants  were  in  waiting : 

“ Of  a surety  he  bears  him  grandly,  this  earl — an’  he  be  the 
king’s  servant , it  were  ill  standing  before  the  master !” 


128 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


And  he  was,  too,  a grand  and  stately  personage,  that  same 
Earl  of  Ormond — a man  of  commanding  presence  and  imposing 
manners,  high  and  haughty  in  his  ordinary  bearing,  above  all, 
where  undue  assumption  on  the  part  of  others,  or  any  approach 
to  familiarity  made  him  deem  it  requisite,  yet  no  man  of  his 
order  could  condescend  with  a loftier  grace,  a more  bland  or 
winning  courtesy.  Accomplished  in  all  the  arts  of  dissimulation, 
and  well  versed  in  courtly  wiles,  prudent,  too,  beyond  most  men 
of  his  time,  it  was  little  wonder  that  Ormond’s  sentiments  and 
opinions  on  public  events  were  often  a mystery  both  to  his  col- 
leagues at  the  council-board  and  his  subordinates  in  the  field. 
Allied  to  the  Catholic  party  by  every  near  and  dear  tie,  he 
was  naturally  suspected  by  the  Puritans,  while  the  Catholics, 
especially  those  of  English  blood,  gave  him  credit  for  a secret 
sympathy  with  them  and  their  cause  which  was,  in  reality,  foreign 
to  his  heart.  Like  all  apostates  he  hated  the  religion  he  had 
left,  and  thought  it  quite  right  to  restrict  its  growth  by  penal 
enactments,  yet,  having  just  as  little,  or  it  might  be  even  less 
sympathy  with  the  fanatical  Puritans,  he  held  their  exterminating 
doctrines  in  utter  abhorrence,  and  for  very  hatred  to  them  might 
at  times  appear  less  determined  in  his  hostility  to  Catholic  inter- 
ests than  he  really  was.  Outwardly  he  professed  the  religion  of 
the  king  to  whose  fortunes  he  was  every  way  bound,  but  at  heart 
James  Butler  was  a self- worshipping,  worldly-minded  man,  bent 
upon  turning  to  his  own  advantage  some  at  least  of  the  conflicting 
elements  around  him,  and  not  over  scrupulous  as  to  the  means  of 
building  up  a yet  greater  fortune,  and  attaining  to  yet  greater 
power  than  that  which  he  already  possessed.  Still  his  religious 
profession  was  sincere,  that  is  to  say,  his  sympathies  were  all 
with  the  Anglican  Church,  and  to  a certain  extent  he  was  also  a 
loyal  subject  of  King  Charles,  always  providing  that  the  mon- 
arch’s interests  and  his  own  ran  in  the  same  channel. 

Such  a man  must  necessarily  have  wielded  a powerful  influence 
in  the  complicated  machinery  of  the  state  at  that  momentous 
period  when  all  was  anarchy,  strife,  and  contention,  in  the  great 
councils  of  the  empire.  And  so,  in  fact,  he  did,  for  all  through 
the  storms  and  convulsions  of  those^  turbulent  times,  his  grand 
figure  stands  out  in  strong  relief  from  the  chaotic  mass  of  medi- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


129 


ocre  statesmen,  intriguing  politicians,  and  truculent,  unprincipled 
leaders.  With  all  his  faults — and  they  were  partly  the  effect  of 
early  training,  partly  of  non-training,  and  the  absence  of  all  salu- 
tary restraint  on  a wild  and  spirited  youth,  brought  up  in  the 
corrupt  atmosphere  of  the  court  of  James  the  First — with  all  his 
faults,  Ormond  had  some  redeeming  qualities  which  challenge 
our  respect,  and  although  we  may  not  love,  we  cannot  help  ad- 
miring the  lofty,  ambitious,  courtly  Earl  of  Ormond,  who,  hand- 
some and  accomplished,  wise  in  council,  great  in  camp  and  field, 
presented  to  a dissolute  and  faithless  age  the  rare  spectacle 
of  immaculate  purity  of  morals,  with  the  strictest  observance  of 
all  domestic  ties. 

For  the  part  which  James  Butler  took  in  frustrating  the  efforts 
of  the  Confederate  Catholics,  we  owe  him  small  liking,  the  more 
so  as  his  powerful  influence  should,  by  right,  have  been  thrown 
into  the  scale  in  their  favor,  whereas  he  proved  himself  through- 
out their  consistent  enemy,  while,  at  times,  professing  friendship 
for  the  most  sinister  motives.  If  his  giant  shadow  fell  darkly 
across  the  most  brilliant  effort  ever  made  by  the  Irish  people  to 
obtain  redress,  it  was  the  fault  of  those  w7ho  trusted  him  blindly 
and  against  all  experience— had  he  never  obtained  an  influence 
in  the  Catholic  councils,  he  never  had  power  to  betray,  and  in 
fair  fighting  he  could  never  have  conquered. 

Such  as  he  was,  however,  the  Lords  Justices  were  but  too 
happy  to  avail  themselves  of  his  recognized  abilities  at  that  cri- 
tical juncture,  and  hence  their  urgent  request  for  his  speedy  at- 
tendance in  Dublin,  for  the  purpose  of  assuming  the  chief  mili- 
tary command. 

Left  to  himself,  the  Earl  took  some  turns  up  and  down  the 
spacious  apartment,  pausing  now  and  then  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows to  look  out  upon  the  gray  lowering  sky  and  the  misty  rain 
which  drearily  veiled  the  fair  landscape. 

“ The  season  is  a bad  one,”  he  muttered,  “ for  military  opera- 
tions, but  it  is  no  better  for  them  than  it  is  for  us.  And  yet — I 
know  not  but  it  may — they  be  used  to  hard  living,  these  wild  kern 
and  gallow glasses,  and  are  wont  to  battle  with  the  elements.” 

Again  he  paced  the  room  to  and  fro,  then  stopped  before  a 
grim  old  portrait  which  hung  in  a deep  recess  between  the  twro 
6* 


130 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


centre  windows.  The  Earl  folded  his  arms  on  his  broad  chest, 
and  gazed  with  an  eye  half  sad,  half  defiant,  on  the  dark,  stern 
face  which  seemed  to  look  reproachfully  down  from  the  time- 
worn canvas.  Gradually  a dreamy  look  settled  down  on  Or- 
mond's face,  and  he  stood  riveted  to  the  spot  in  utter  abstrac- 
tion. Once  more  his  full  rich  lips  parted,  and-  many  words  of 
strange  import  escaped  them  as  he  apostrophized  the  mailed 
warrior. 

“ You  need  not  look  so  grim,  Thomas  Butler,  for  there  be  too 
much  of  your  own  haughty  spirit  in  me  to  quail  even  before  your 
frown.  For  all  you  were  a stern  old  Papist,  given  to  mumbling 
over  beads  like  my  grandfather,*  gx>d,  easy  man,  it  does  not 
follow  that  I,  your  descendent,  should  serve  the  Pope  of  Rome 
in  preference  to  my  lawful  .sovereign.  Men  may  upbraid  me,  if 
they  will,  with  my  Popish  ancestry,  and  some  seek,  on  that  ac- 
count, to  hold  me  to  Romish  ways  of  thinking,  but  I tell  you, 
Thomas  Dhu,  Til  none  of  them,  and  they  do  me  foul  wrong  who 
cast  my  Popish  blood  in  my  face,  for  there  be  none  of  it  in  my 
heart.  An’  my  Elizabeth  were  once  in  a mending  way,f  and  his 
highness’s  commission  come  to  hand,  this  old  house  of  yours:}: 
should  not  long  hold  me  within  its  walls.  The  voice  of  duty 
calls  me  to  crush  these  audacious  rebels — ay,  doth  it,  Thomas  ! 
—and  crush  them  I will,  so  help  me  heaven !” 

Here  there  came  a message  from  the  Countess,  craving  a few 
moments’  speech  of  her  lord,  and  immediately  Ormond  recol- 
lected the  despatches,  which  he  must  needs  send  off  without  delay. 
Still  his  thoughts  followed  him  as  he  repaired  to  the  apartments 
of  the  Countess,  situate  in  another  wing  of  the  Castle,  and  on 
the  way  he  soliloquized  in  this  wise 

“ McGuire  and  McMahon  in  prison — humph — McGuire  would 
never  have  given  us  much  trouble,  but  McMahon  served  in  Spain 

*His  grandfather,  Earl  Walter,  whom  he  immediately  succeeded 
in  the  title,  was  known  by  the  soubriquet  of  Walter  of  the  Rosary. 

tit  was  tho  illness  of  his  Countess  that  then  detained  him  at 
Car  rick. 

X This  Tipperary  Castle  of  the  Butlerg  was  built  by  this  Thomas 
Dhu,  one  of  the  lineal  ancestors  of  the  great  Earl 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


131 


for  a short  time,  and  for  the  little  I have  seen  of  him,  I am  well 
content  to  hear  of  his  speedy  capture.  But  this  Phelim  O’Neill, 
who  has,  they  say,  overrun  the  major  part  of  Ulster  with  his 
allies  within  a week — as  a military  leader  his  name  is  new  to 
me,  though  I have  seen  the  man  more  than  once  in  Dublin — a 
genuine  Celt  I took  him  for,  rough  and  somewhat  hasty  withal 
— and  yet,  if  what  I have  heard  be  true,  he  did  profess  the  Re- 
formed doctrines  while  studying  the  law  ip  London*  — it  matters 
not,  he  must  have  returned  to  the  fold,  as  the  Papist’s  phrase  it, 
else  would  he  never  go  headforemost  into  this  treason.  A plague 
on  them  for  O’Neills,  they  be  ever  brewing  mischief — I thought 
the  late  mishap  which  befel  young  Tyrone  might,  perchance,  keep 
them  quiet  a space,  but  they  be  a hydra-headed  race — no  sooner 
one  lopped  off,  than  up  another  starts,  and  what  is  worse,  all 
Ulster  starts  up  with  them.  I would  that  Bloody  Hand  of  theirs 
was  in  the  Red  Sea,  never  again  to  beckon  men  on  to  treason  and 
foul  rebellion — an’  the  Flemish  hero  of  the  family  take  it  into  his 
noddle  to  come  and  have  a finger  in  this  precious  pie,  we  may  find 
it  over  hard  of  digestion  for  our  stomach’s  health.  There  be 
others  of  the  old  blood,  too,  who  have  won  laurels  abroad,  an’ 
they  all  flock  around  the  standard  of  rebellion,  we  may  look  to 
our  poor  laurels,  such  as  they  be.  As  for  the  Palesmen,  I value 
them  little,  one  way  or  the  other — their  lip-loyalty  is  not  worth 
a straw,  for  of  a surety  they  have  but  small  cause  to  relish  this 
government — still  it  will  go  hard  with  them  an’  they  make  com- 
mon cause  with  the  natives — no,  no,  their  Norman  stomachs  could 
never  brook  that— their  Papistry  and  their  English  sympathies 
will  keep  tugging  them  in  opposite  directions,  till  it  be  too  late 
to  give  effective  aid  to  either  party.  Ha  ! ha  ! their  estates  begin 
to  shake  under  them — poor  Fingal  and  all  the  rest  of  ye,  what  a 
quagmire  ye  have  got  upon  since  the  unlucky  twenty -third.  And 
of  all  men  living  it  is  to  Parsons  and  Borlase  ye  must  needs 
reach  out  your  hands  for  succor ! — oh  blood  of  our  Norman 

* If  this  be  true,  and  many  credible  aixthorities  say  it  is,  we  have 
only  to  say  that  Sir  Phelim  nobly  atoned  for  this  temporary  apostaoy 
of  his  earlier  years.  All  through  the  long  struggle  for  religious  free 
dom,  ho  did  what  in  him  lay  to  advance  the  Catholic  cause. 


132 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


fathers,  do  you  indeed  fill  the  veins  of  these  Plunkets,  Prestons, 
Nettervilles  and  Dillons!  Ye  call  yourselves  Papists,  yet  have 
not  the  manhood  to  stand  up  for  your  party — better,  surely,  to 
be  as  Janies  Butler!” 

This  contemptuous  sarcasm  brought  the  keen-witted  nobleman 
to  the  Countess’s  ante-chamber,  whence  he  dispatched  one  of 
her  women  to  apprise  her  that  he  waited  admission.  Meanwhile 
a short  digression  may  not  be  amiss. 

Elizabeth  Preston,  Countess  of  Ormond,  then  lying  on  a bed 
of  sickness,  the  effect  of  a long  and  tedious  confinement,  was  a 
woman  of  great  beauty  and  of  many  fine  endowments  of  mind. 
Like  her  husband  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the  noxious 
atmosphere  of  the  English  Court,  for  she,  too,  was  the  orphan 
daughter  of  a noble  house,*  and  being  so,  was,  of  course,  under 
the  fatherly  care  of  the  Court  of  Wards,  and  brought  up  in  the 
orthodox  religion  of  the  state,  though  her  veins,  like  Ormond’s, 
were  filled  with  the  purest  Catholic  blood.  It  so  happened  that 
the  Lady  Elizabeth’s  large  possessions  were  made  up  in  great 
part  from  the  domains  of  the  house  of  Ormond,  seized  at  various 
times  by  the  hypocritical  rapacity  of  James,  and  by  him,  for  some 
consideration,  unjustly  transferred  to  his  new  Earl  of  Desmond. 
Drawn  together  not  only  by  similarity  of  position,  but  also  by  the 
ties  of  blood, — for  they  were  cousins, — the  two  noble  wards  early 
began  to  regard  each  other  with  more  than  common  attention, 
and  it  was  not  strange  that  the  all  but  portionless  heir  of  the 
Butlers  should  do  homage  to  the  peerless  charms  of  the  fair 
daughter  of  Desmond,  or  that  she,  on  her  part,  should  feel  what 
all  admitted,  that  the  young  Lord  Thurles  was  the  handsomest 
and  most  accomplished  cavalier  about  the  court.  Mutual  admi- 
ration quickly  grew  into  mutual  love,  and  much  was  the  plotting 
king  disconcerted  to  find  that  the  wealthy  heiress  of  Desmond, 
whose  hand  he  had  promised  to  his  unworthy  favorite  Bucking- 
ham, for  a nephew  of  his,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Denbigh,  was  about 
to  bestow  herself  and  her  possessions  on  her  cousin  Lord  Thurles, 

||  Her  father,  Sir  Richard  Preston,  was  endowed  by  James  the 
Hirst  with  the  earldom  of  Desmond,  long  vested  in  the  crown  under 
various  political  pretexts 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


133 


and  thereby  to  build  up  again  the  broken  fortunes  of  the  house 
of  Ormond,  for  whose  prosperity  Scotch  Jamie  cared  very  little. 
Finding,  however,  that  the  nearest  relations  on  both  sides  were 
favorable  to  the  union,  the  king  could  not  for  shame  withhold 
his  consent,  and  so  it  was  that  young  Butler  bore  away  in  tri- 
umph the  fairest  lady,  and,  perchance,  the  richest  heiress  of  King 
James’s  Court.  Their  first  married  clays  were  spent  amid  the 
shades  of  Acton,  the  beautiful  seat  of  the  bridegroom’s  maternal 
grandfather,  but  after  a brief  season,  Earl  Walter  of  Ormond, 
being  far  advanced  in  years,  “ shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,”  leav- 
ing his  title  and  his  castles,  and  the  remnant  of  his  domains,  to- 
gether with  his  blessing  to  the  grandson  whose  auspicious  mar- 
riage had  brought  back  into  the  family  the  bulk  of  its  princely 
possessions.  So  the  youthful  bride  of  Ormond  was  removed  from 
her  quiet  English  home,  and  installed  as  a Countess  in  the  lordly 
halls  of  Kilkenny,  and  in  that  stately  Castle  by  the  silvery  Suir, 
near  Carrick’s  walls,  where  we  have  first  seen  the  great  Earl, 
and  when  the  pipers  and  harpers  of  Ormond  put  forth  their  joy- 
ous strains  of  welcome,  the  lady  of  Desmond  won  their  hearts  by 
declaring  that  never  music  sounded  half  so  sweet  to  her,  albeit 
that  her  ears  were  attuned  to  the  melody  of  courtly  minstrels. 
From  that  day  forward  the  bards  were  loud  in  the  praise  of 
Ormond’s  bride,  and  she  ruled  like  a queen  in  beauty  and  in 
grace,  over  the  hearts  and  homes  of  the  thousands  who  called 
the  Butler  lord. 

The  Countess,  although  brought  up  under  the  same  pernicious 
influence  as  her  husband,  was  no  sharer  in  his  anti-Papist  pre- 
judices. Her  clear  sound  judgment  and  her  strong  sense  of 
right  made  the  justice  of  the  Catholic  claims  apparent  to  her 
mind,  while  the  gentleness  of  her  nature  made  her  prone  to  pity 
the  sufferings,  which,  for  conscience’  sake,  they  bore,  and  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  hardships  of  their  ruined  and  plundered  state. 
Not  that  she  regarded  their  religion  with  any  more  favor  than 
others  of  the  royal  perverts,  but  as  a clear-headed,  soft-hearted 
woman  she  viewed  their  cause  and  entered  into  the  feelings  which 
impelled  them  to  this  struggle  when  from  Ormond’s  lips  she 
heard  of  it  that  day. 

“ My  lord,  my  lord,”  said  she,  “ bethink  you  well  what  you  do 


134 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


ere  you  take  upon  you  to  carry  out  tlie  views  of  the  Lords  Jus- 
tices in  regard  to  these  poor  misguided  people 

“Why,  Elizabeth,”  said  the  Earl  with  a sportive  smile,  “me- 
thinks  you  be  more  than  half  a rebel  yourself  to  hold  such  speech 
in  their  behoof.  I little  thought  ever  to  hear  wife  of  mine  plead 
in  favor  of  the  king’s  enemies  !” 

“Nay,  Ormond,”  replied  the  lady,  “you  know  full  well  that 
the  king’s  enemies  are  not  the  Irish  Papists — marry,  he  has  his 
worst  enemies  nearer  home,  and  I have  it  from  our  gracious 
queen  herself  that  if  his  highness  dared  he  would  do  somewhat 
to  lighten  the  burden  which  weighs  so  heavily  on  his  subjects  in 

this  realm  who  hold  to  the  old  faith ” 

“ Hush,  Bess,  hush,  I pray  you !”  said  the  Earl  in  a low  earnest 
tone,  “ such  words  be  neither  safe  nor  prudent — heard  and  re- 
peated by  tattling  tongue  they  might  reach  those  who  would  be 
right  glad  to  use  them  to  his  grace's  detriment.  However  it  be 
in  that  matter*  my  duty  is  plain,  and  if  God  spares  me  life  to 
do  it,  I will  put  down  this  rebellion  before  it  gathers  more 
strength.” 

“But,  Ormond,”  persisted  the  generous  Countess,  and  she 
raised  herself  on  her  elbow  the  better  to  urge  her  remonstrance, 
“ no  fair  means  have  been  tried  to  conciliate  these  poor  natives — • 
not  one  of  their  just  demands  hath  been  conceded — why,  then, 
have  recourse  to  force  and  bloodshed,  ever  odious  in  the  sight  of 
heaven,  before  any  attempt  hath  been  made  to  win  them  from 
their  treasonable  practices  by  gentler  means  V’ 

“ Truly,  Bess,  their  own  ways  are  gentle !”  quoth  the  Earl, 
sharply;  “ they  be  dealing  softly,  of  a surety,  with  the  loyal  Pro- 
testants whose  goods  and  substance  they  lay  hold  of  with  so  lit- 
tle ceremony.  Your  womanly  softness  leads  you  into  error!” 

“ Surely,  no,  James,  I bear  all  their  treasonable  doings  in 
mind,  and,  all  things  taken  into  account,  I marvel  they  be  not  of 
a bloodier  nature — but  your  lordship  knows  right  well  that  these 
Papists,  hunted,  and  robbed,  and  persecuted  for  their  religion 
though  they  be,  have  made  divers  efforts  to  soften  the  flinty 
hearts  of  their  rulers,  and  obtain  even  a small  portion  of  that 
justice  which  is  due  to  them — nay,  in  the  late  affair  of  the 
Graces — have  they  not  been  treated  with  most  base  and  cruel 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


135 


treachery  —interrupt  me  not,  I beseech  you,  till  I speak  my 
thoughts  once  for  all  on  this  pitiful  subject— why  it  was  but  the 
other  day,  in  a manner,  that  a large  body  of  these  much- wronged 
poor  people  had  a remonstrance  written  for  them  by  that  godly 
prelate,  Bishop  Beddell,  of  Kilmore,  urging  upon  the  govern- 
ment their  many  grievances,  and  humbly  asking  for  redress  — 
think  you  that  good  bishop  and  most  loyal  subject  would  have  put 
pen  to  paper  on  behalf  of  knaves  and  plotters  of  rebellion  1 - nay, 
never  tell  me,  it  was  hard  necessity  that  drove  them  to  their 
present  courses — whenever  they  complained  or  remonstrated 
ever  so  humbly,  Sir  Charles  Coote  and  such  like  men  were  sent 
into  their  territories  to  silence  their  clamor  with  fire  and  sword.” 

The  Countess  sank  on  her  pillow  exhausted,  and  the  Earl 
laughed— a low  deep  laugh  peculiar  to  himself — as  he  rose  to 
proceed  to  the  writing  of  his  despatches.  The  look  of  discontent 
on  the  fair  brow  of  Elizabeth  quickly  vanished  as  he  stooped  and 
whispered  some  words  of  tenderness,  and  smoothed  with  his 
hand  the  fair  silken  tresses  which  had  made  their  way  from  under 
her  cambric  coif.  “ Rest  you  softly,  sweet  wife,”  he  said  very 
gently,  as  he  beckoned  to  her  women,  who  had  merely  retired  on 
his  entrance  to  the  farther  end  of  the  spacious  chamber;  “ trust 
me,  the  rebels  will  not  thank  you  for  taking  up  their  cause,  and 
good  Doctor  Delamere  will  find  you  none  the  better  for  what  you 
have  spoken.” 

The  following  day  brought  the  royal  commission,  written  by 
the  monarch’s  own  hand,  appointing  his  “ trusty  and  well-beloved 
Ormond”  lieutenant-general  of  all  the  army  in  Ireland,  with  an 
urgent  request— meaning,  Of  course,  a command — to  take  the 
field  immediately.  Fortunately  the  Countess’s  health  was  so  far 
improved  that  in  two  days  more  the  leech  pronounced  her  out  of 
all  danger,  and,  his  mind  thus  lightened  of  its  heaviest  load,  the 
Earl  proceeded  at  once  to  Dublin. 

The  Lords  Justices,  in  their  puerile  terror,  hailed  Ormond’s 
appearance  with  exuberant  satisfaction,  as,  in  times  of  trouble 
and  confusion,  weaker  minds  ever  throw  themselves  on  the 
stronger  for  support,  and  Ormond  was  even  then  famous  amongst 
the  men  of  his  time  for  readiness  of  wit  as  for  promptness  and 
decision  of  character.  He  was  known  to  both  friends  and  foes 


136 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


as  one  who  could  practise  as  well  as  plan,  and  plan  as  well  as 
practise.  He  was  the  man,  in  short,  on  whose  genius,  energy, 
and  courage,  both  the  Irish  government  and  the  king  himself 
relied  in  every  emergency. 

A council  was  immediately  summoned  to  meet  the  Earl,  who 
belonged,  of  course,  to  that  dignified  body  whose  privilege  it 
was  to  advise  the  executive.  Great  was  Ormond’s  surprise  to 
find  that  the  small  force  actually  at  the  disposal  of  the  govern- 
ment was  already  brought  into  Dublin  from  the  different  gar- 
risons of  the  adjoining  country,  leaving  the  whole  island,  as  one 
might  say,  open  to  the  incursions  of  the  rebels,  as,  to  be  sure,  the 
Catholic  forces  were  styled.  In  the  Earl’s  eyes  this  amounted  to 
little  less  than  encouraging  the  rebellion,  and  so  he  broadly 
hinted,  but  Parsons  was  ready  with  his  answer,  that  the  seat  of 
government  must  needs  be  protected  at  all  hazards. 

“And  the  Lords  Justices  above  all!”  Ormond  added  within 
himself,  and  he  smiled,  but  made  no  remark. 

Here  one  of  the  many  doors  of  the  Council  Chamber  opened, 
and  another  remarkable  personage  made  his  appearance. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


137 


CHAPTER  XI. 

“ Nurtur’d  in  blood  betimes,  his  heart  delights 
In  vengeance,  gloating  on  another’s  pain.’* 

Byron’s  Childe  Harold. 

“ Torture  thou  mayest,  but  thou  shalt  ne’er  despise  me  ; 

The  blood  will  follow  where  the  knife  is  driven  ; 

The  flesh  will  quiver  where  the  pincers  tear  ; 

And  sighs  and  cries  by  nature  grow  on  pain  : 

But  these  are  foreign  to  the  soul ; not  mine 
The  groans  that  issue,  or  the  tears  that  fall ; 

They  disobey  me ; — on  the  rack  I scorn  thee.” 

Young. 

The  person  who  now  made  his  appearance  was  a man  of  large 
proportions,  considerably  above  the  middle  height,  and  far  be- 
yond the  middle  age.  His  form  and  demeanor  might  have  been 
called  commanding,  were  it  not  for  the  fleshy  redness  of  his  face 
and  the  large,  fierce-looking  gray  eyes,  which,  protruding  far 
beyond  the  surrounding  surface,  gave  a fierce  and  somewhat 
brutal  expression  to  the  whole  visage.  His  hair  and  whiskers 
were  already  silver  gray,  and  his  massive  forehead  bald  to  the 
crown.  He  was  clothed  in  the  undress  military  uniform  of  the 
British  army  of  that  day,  and  his  brawny,  sinewy  neck,  in  utter 
defiance  of  the  chill  November  rain,  was  bare  almost  to  the  col- 
lar-bone. Altogether  there  was  a look  of  ferocious  energy  and 
indomitable  courage  about  the  whole  man,  that,  with  his  huge 
muscular  frame,  and  the  sensual  appearance  of  his  eyes  and 
mouth,  made  a strong  and  very  disagreeable  impression  even  on 
the  casual  beholder.  To  the  native  Irish,  and,  indeed,  to  all  the 
Catholics  who  fell  in  his  way,  the  man  was  an  object  of  fear  and 
abhorrence,  and  well  he  might,  for  he  was  no  other  than  Sir 


138 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Charles  Coote,*  the  Dalzell  of  the  Irish  wars,  one  of  the  bloodiest 
and  most  inhuman  generals  that  ever  drew  sword  in  execution  of 
a tyrant’s  will.  With  the  Lords  Justices  Coote  was  in  high  favor, 
higher  far  than  Ormond  or  any  other  captain  of  that  day,  and  that 
not  on  account  of  any  superior  excellence  as  a general,  or  any 
superior  knowledge  of  military  tactics,  but  solely  because  of  his 
entire  subserviency  to  their  will,  and  Utter  disregard  of  the  means 
by  which  it  was  accomplished.  The  more  cruel,  in  fact,  the 
means,  the  better  pleased  was  Coote,  and  where  cupidity  had 
little  to  look  for  or  expect  from  the  utter  wretchedness  of  the 
victims,  another  and  still  stronger  motive  had  he  in  his  unquench- 
able hatred  of  the  Irish  Papists.  Like  Hamilton  of  Leitrim,  Sir 
Charles  Coote  was  disliked  by  all  the  moderate  and  humane 
even  of  his  own  party,  and  the  general  impression  amongst  them 
was  that  when  any  strong  temptation  offered,  or  his  brute  pas- 
sion impelled  him  on,  it  would  cost  him  no  more  to  give  them 
cold  steel  or  short  shrive  than  the  veriest  Papist  or  merest  Irish 
kern  in  broad  Ireland.  Between  Coote  and  Ormond  there  was 
little  sympathy  and  just  as  little  liking — heartless  as  the  Earl  was 
in  regard  to  Catholics,  he  was  utterly  opposed  to  the  savage 
policy  of  Coote  and  Parsons,  and  with  all  his  intense  devotion  to 
liis  own  interests,  he  could  never  have  stooped  to  advance  his 
fortunes  by  the  harsh  and  brutal  means  which  they,  from  choice, 
adopted.  There  was  hardly  one  bond  of  union  between  the  two 
generals,  if  we  except  that  of  hatred  to  Catholics — for  while 
Ormond  was  the  friend  and  servant  of  King  Charles  and  honestly 
fought  in  his  interest,  Sir  Charles  Coote  was  by  all  recognized  as 
the  henchman  of  the  Lords  Justices,  and  consequently  of  the 
refractory  Parliament  of  England,  a far  more  rebellious  body 
even  then  than  the  insurgent  Catholics  of  Ireland. 

“ How  now,  lords  and  gentlemen,”  said  Coote,  in  a deep  gruff 
voice,  as  he  advanced  to  a vacant  seat  near  Parsons,  scarcely 

* Tliis  Sir  Charles  Coote  was  the  founder  of  a race  which  has  left  its 
bloody  mark  on  many  a page  of  Irish  history — above  all  others  they 
have  been  distinguished  for  cruelty,  love  of  plunder,  and  the  grossest 
sensuality.  The  Q icon’s  County  and  that  of  Cavan  were  specially 
given  over  to  their  rapacious  rule. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


139 


deigning  to  make  the  customary  salute  to  the  other  members  of 
the  Council,  though  it  numbered  two  or  three  Bishops  ; “ ye  do 
take  things  easy  here,  nothing  mindful,  it  would  seem,  that  the 
rascally  Papists  are  overrunning  the  whole  country  !** 

“ What  would  you  have  us  do,  Sir  Charles  V’  asked  Parsons  in 
what  he  meant  for  a gracious  tone  ; “ until  such  time  as  your  new 
levies  are  fit  to  take  the  field,  we  are,  as  it  were,  powerless  to 
smite  those  Philistines — here  is  my  lord  of  Ormond,  newly  ap- 
pointed by  his  grace’s  highness  to  the  chief  command — he  would 
have  us  give  him  what  forces  are  here  in  town — and  our  Lord 
knows  they  be  all  too  few  to  protect  the  place — and  to  let  him 
march  northwards  in  quest  of  the  enemy,  when  Heaven  knows 
but  they  might  give  him  the  slip  and  by  another  route  come  upon 
us  here  in  town  and  burn  and  slay  all  before  them  after  their  sav- 
age manner.  We  were  of  hard  necessity  driven  to  refuse  his  lord- 
ship’s demand,  how  then  can  we  answer  your  question,  otherwise 
than  by  saying  that  the  lack  of  troops  is  our  misfortune  rather 
than  our  fault.” 

“ It  is  even  so,  Sir  Charles,”  said  Ormond  with  his  bland  and  all- 
concealing  smile  ; “ here  have  I been  summoned  to  town  in  all 
haste  to  proceed  against  the  rebels,  and  being  come,  I am  like  a 
man  with  his  hands  tied— men,  money,  and' arms  are  all  wanting, 
so  that  I am  a general  without  a command— was  there  ever  such 
provision  made  for  such  an  emergency  1” 

“Go  to  work  and  make  an  army  as  I do,”  was  Coote’s  rough 
answer ; “ Sir  William  is  right,  strength  must  be  kept  up  here, 
come  what  may,  and  the  king’s  trust  is  much  misplaced  in  your 
lordship  an’  you  cannot  raise  forces  to  serve  your  turn.” 

“ Were  I inclined  to  bandy  words  with  a gentleman  so  polished,  ’ 
said  Ormond  with  lofty  scorn  and  keen  irony,  “ I might  say  to 
Sir  Charles  Coote  that  what  man  can  do  that  will  Ormond  do,  an’ 
means  are  given  him,  but  a carpenter  can  ill  work  without  tools, 
or  a butcher,  either,  as  some  here  present  may  bear  witness.” 
There  was  something  in  the  last  words  that  brought  a smile  to 
many  a grave  face  around  the  table,  though  all  cast  down  their 
eyes  to  avoid  making  any  application. 

“ I understand  you,  my  lord  of  Ormond,”  said  Coote  with  a 
smile  half  humorous,  half  ferocious,  “ but  I would  have  you  to 


140 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


know  that- butchery,  for  all  your  sneer,  is  the  best  trade  going 
now  that  wild  cattle  are  out  in  droves — an  ounce  of  sharp  steel 
will  go  farther  with  them  than  a bushel  of  fair  words.  Hang  them 
up  and  rip  them  open  — make  scare-crows  of  them  to  frighten 
their  accomplices — that’s  all  you  can  ever  make  them  good  for, 
and  that’s  how  I treat  them  whenever  they  come  into  my  hands, 
egg  or  bird  of  them  !” 

With  the  exception  of  Parsons  and  his  surly  old  colleague, 
there  was  hardly  one  around  the  council-board  who  did  not  shud- 
der at  this  brutal  declaration,  but  all  knew  the  speaker  too  well 
to  attempt  either  censure,  ridicule,  or  remonstrance.  By  general 
consent,  little  or  no  notice  was  ever  taken  in  the  council-room  of 
Coote’s  characteristic  blustering,  and  Ormond,  to  whom  he  had 
specially  addressed  himself,  vouchsafed  no  reply  but  turned  with 
cold  contempt  to  the  Lords  Justices. 

“ I have  heard,”  said  he,  “ that  the  English  Papists  of  the  Pale 
have  asked  and  received  arms  from  the  government.  Your  lord- 
ships,  then,  believe  them  trustworthy  V’ 

Some  members  of  the  Council,  amongst  others  the  Archbishop 
of  Dublin,  were  eagerly  professing  their  belief  in  the  loyalty  of 
those  lords  and  gentlemen,  when  Coote  roughly  interposed : 

“ I wouldn’t  trust  them  the  length  of  my  nose” — here  there  was 
a very  perceptible  titter  amongst  the  younger  members,  for  the 
general’s  nose  occupied  a large  portion  of  his  facial  surface,  and 
was  moreover  of  very  remarkable  length — “ ay  ! ye  may  laugh,” 
he  continued,  with  a fierce  glance  around  the  board,  “ especially 
as  the  rebels  are  at  safe  distance— an’  they  come  within  pike’s 
length  of  any  of  your  noble  lordships,  the  laughter,  I fear,  will 
be  the  other  way.  As  for  these  white-livered  and  most  dainty 
gentlemen  of  the  Pale,  I tell  you  they  be  worth  watching — the 
lying  spirit  of  Rome  is  in  them  to  the  back-bone,  and  ye  know  it 
too — if  ye  trust  them,  ye  are  no  better  than  they,  and  another 
thing  let  me  tell  you  concerning  them,  lords  and  gentlemen,  which 
perchance  some  of  ye  know  not — ” here  the  speaker  paused 
and  looked  around  with  a leer  so  expressive  and  at  the  same  time 
so  diabolical  as  to  make  the  majority  of  his  hearers  turn  away 
their  eyes  in  disgust — “ rich  lordships  they  have  and  hold,  and 
fair  manors,  and  barns  and  bawns  well  stored — little  wonder  is 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


141 


it,  then,  that  they  would  fain  pass  for  most  loyal  men,  but  great 
wonder  it  is  to  me  that  you,  my  Lords  Justices,  and  you,  honor- 
able members  of  the  Council,  should  suffer  those  knaves  to  throw 
dust  in  your  eyes,  and  thereby  keep  what  they  have  until  such 
time  as  their  friends  the  northern  rebels  can,  with  their  secret 
aid  and  abetment,  take  your  houses  over  your  heads,  ay  ! and 
ornament  the  tops  of  their  pikes  with  those  same  sculls — num- 
skulls we  might  well  call  them  then,  seeing  that  they  had  not 

sense  enough  to  protect  themselves  ! By  the ,”  and  he  swore 

a dreadful  oath,  striking  the  table  with  his  ponderous  fist  at  the 
same  time,  “ an’  ye.  leave  these  arms  in  the  hands  of  such  traitors 
as  Gormanstown,  Dunsany,  and  the  rest  of  that  crew,  ye  deserve 
all  that  will  come  upon  ye ! Some  even  of  this  Council  may  seek 
to  persuade  you  in  courtly  speech  that  these  mongrel  hounds 
being  of  English  blood,  and,  moreover,  in  divers  ways  connected 
with  them,)  must  needs  be  loyal  gentlemen,  but  I give  you  my 
word  I would  not  trust  them  an’  they  were  Charles  Stuart's 
kinsmen !” 

“ Charles  Stuart  !”  Ormond  repeated  with  stern  emphasis, 
“ who  may  that  be,  Sir  Charles  Coote  V ’ and  rising,  he  drew 
himself  up  to  his  fullest  height. 

“ Go  northward  and  ask  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,”  was  the  insolent 
answer;  “ they  do  say  he  shows  a license  from  an  individual  of 
that  name !” 

“ I insist  on  knowing  what  you  mean !”  said  the  Earl  in  his 
loftiest  tone  and  manner ; “I  will  not,  cannot  suppose  that  our 
sovereign  lord  the  king  is  alluded  to  in  such  wise  by  one  of  his 
own  generals  and  in  such  presence  as  this—” 

Suppose  what  you  please,  my  lord  of  Ormond,”  said  Coote 
with  vehemence,  “ I say  the  arch-rebel  and  traitor,  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill — whose  head  I look  to  see  on  one  of  our  city  gate-posts 
some  of  these  days — does  publicly  and  openly  exhibit  to  his 
ruffianly  followers  a commission  for  his  present  work,  signed  by 
no  less  a personage  than  ‘ our  sovereign  lord,  the  king.’  Hear 
you  that,  my  lord  V' 

The  insolent  imitation  of  his  own  tone  and  manner  would  at 
another  time  have  irritated  the  proud  earl,  but  at  that  moment 


142 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  astounding  news*  which  he  then  heard  for  the  first  time 
engrossed  all  his  attention,  and  leaving  Coote  to  exchange  tri- 
umphant glances  aside  with  Parsons  and  a few  others  of  the  mem- 
bers, he  eagerly  turned  to  the  Bishops  and  Sir  Robert  Meredith 
to  ask  if  what  he  heard  could  possibly  be  true.  The  report  was 
common  in  town,  they  regretted  to  say,  and  however  idle  or  im- 
probable it  might  seem  to  be,  there  were  but  too  many  who  be- 
lieved it. 

“ It  were  strange  an’  they  did  not,”  said  Borlase,  disregarding 
the  nods  and  winks  of  his  more  wily  partner  in  office,  “when 
they  have  it  from  the  mouths  Of  the  sufferers  who  flock  hither  for 
shelter  from  the  ravenous  fury  of  the  Ulster  Papists  who  have 
stripped  them  of  all  they  had  and  turned  them  adrift  like  shorn 
sheep,  to  die  in  the  fields  and  highways  of  cold  and  hunger.” 

“ It  is  but  too  true,  my  lord,”  said  Bishop  Loftus  in  reply  to 
Ormond’s  look  of  wonder  and  interrogation ; “ we  have  for  the 
last  two  or  three  days  witnessed  sights  of  that  nature  fit  to  melt 
our  poor  hearts  within  us.  Shoals  of  the  loyal  and  God-fearing 
Christians  df  Ulster — men,  women  and  children,  are  daily  flock- 
ing hitherward  for  succor  and  protection — ay ! some  of  the  fore- 
most people  of  that  unhappy  province,  too  glad  to  escape  with  * 
their  lives  from  the  bloody  hands  of  those  godless  Papists  who 
have  stripped  them  of  all  they  had — alack ! alack ! but  our 
bowels  yearn  over  those  suffering  confessors  for  the  faith  of 
Christ !” 

Hearing  this,  Ormond  could  not  keep  from  smiling : “ Well ! it 

* There  is  no  d >ubt  that  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  did  exhibit  such  a do- 
cument in  order  to  induco  a belief  that  he  and  his  army  fought  under 
the  royal  sanction.  Amongst  a people  *so  loyally  disposed  as  the 
Irish,  this  pretended  commission  did  undoubtedly  strengthen  Sir 
Phelim’s  hands  considerably.  Our  condemnation  of  such  an  act  as 
the  production  of  a spurious  commission  would  be  much  more  severe, 
did  we  not  know  that  Sir  Phelim  expiated  the  deed  with  his  life,  and 
that  his  last  words  declared  the  king  entirely  innocent  and  ignorant  of 
such  a document  being  in  his  hands.  The  history  of  this  famous  com- 
mission with  the  mystery  in  which  its  origin  was  involved,  the  reader 
will  find  in  a future  chapter. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


143 


is  very  moving,  I do  confess,”  said  he,  “hut  still  I see  not  how 
the  rebels  can  have  such  bloody  hands  as  your  lordship  speaks 
of,  seeing  that  they  do  not  make  martyrs  of  these  pious  confess- 
ors— surely,  an’  they  were  so  much  given  to  bloodshed,  these 
‘ shoals’  of  Protestants  could  not  escape  their  fury  1 But  me- 
thinks  we  are  losing  much  precious  time  in  idle  chit-chat — what 
news  from  the  west,  the  south  I know  to  be  quiet  1” 

“Ay,  marry,  is  it  7”  quoth  Parsons  curtly;  “thanks  to  good 
St.  Leger ” 

“ Little  fear  of  rebellion  where  he  rules,”  put  in  Coote  with  a 
fierce  laugh. 

“ And  as  for  Connaught,”  continued  Parsons,  taking  no  note 
of  the  interruption,  “ the  men  of  Belial  there  have  not  dared  to 

stir  a finger — they  are  quiet  as ” 

“As  muzzled  bears,”  suggested  Coote  again;  “who  thanks 
them  7” 

“ Nay,  Sir  Charles,  said  Rotherham  coldly,”  much  thanks  are 
due  to  the  Lord  Clanrickard  for  the  good  disposition  mani- 
fested in  those  parts.  Papist  though  he  be,  he  is  a most  loyal 
and  excellent  nobleman,  and  writes  us  in  such  wise  as  we  might 

expect  from  a true  friend  to  law  and  order ! ” 

“ Of  a surety  that  Earl  is  doing  good  service,”  said  one  of  the 
Bishops,  “ and  deserves  most  honorable  commendation.” 

“Well!  well!”  said  Coote  impatiently,  “let  it  pass — Clanrick- 
ard and  the  other  Papists  of  that  country  are  none  the  worse  for 
Willoughby  being  there  to  watch  them.  Having  Galway  city 
under  his  thumb  he  can  keep  it  screw  tight  on  them.  But  as 
regards  this  royal  commission  to  the  rebels — be  there  no  way 
left  us  of  getting  at  the  proof  7” 

The  sinister  look  which  accompanied  the  words  was  well  un- 
derstood by  Parsons,  and  he  smiled  exultingly  as  he  replied : 
“ That  have  we,  Sir  Charles ! I thank  God,  we  are  in  a fair  way 
to  bring  out  the  truth — grievous  as  that  may  be  to  loyal  subjects 
— though  I see  not  but  we  have  only  too  much  proof  even  now 
— however,  lest  any  doubt  remain,  Sir  Charles,  we  will  have  re- 
course to  the  safe  and  secure  means  which  the  God  of  justice  has 
placed  within  our  reach.” 

Ormond  and  most  of  the  other  members  exchanged  significant 


144 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


glances,  for  they  all  guessed  what  Parsons  had  in  view.  Disgusted 
as  many  of  them  were  by  the  blasphemous  hypocrisy  which  yet 
was  characteristic  of  the  man,  and  perhaps  condemning  in  their 
hearts  the  cold-blooded  cruelty  which  made  so  little  account  of 
the  sufferings  of  others,  like  Pilate  they  shrank  from  inter- 
posing between  the  tyrant  and  his  victims,  fearing  to  em- 
broil themselves  in  an  affair  which  no  way  concerned  them. 
Even  the  Bishop  who  talked  so  feelingly  of  the  hardships  endured 
by  the  Protestants  of  Ulster  had  not  a word  of  remonstrance  to 
offer  on  behalf  of  fellow-creatures  about  to  undergo  the  extremity 
of  human  torture. 

So  without  having  formed  one  resolution,  or  framed  one  salu- 
tary measure  to  check  the  progress  of  the  rebellion,  the  Privy 
Council  adjourned  its  sitting  in  favor  of  the  noble  and  right  hon- 
orable stomachs  of  its  members.  This  first  and  most  pressing 
duty  discharged,  Parsons  and  Coote  proceeded  together  to  sift 
the  matter  of  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill’s  commission. 

Ormond  was  no  way  surprised  to  hear  that  evening  that  Lord 
Maguire  and  Mr.  McMahon  had  been  both  put  to  the  torture, 
and  that  even  the  rack  which  strained  and  twisted  every  bone 
and  sinew  of  their  body  could  not  draw  any  confession  from 
either  which  went  to  inculpate  the  king  as  privy  to  the  designs  of 
the  insurgent  chieftains.  The  Earl  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
the  document  was  a forged  one,  and  he  knew  enough  of  the 
Irish  generally  to  be  well  assured  that  chieftains  such  as  the  two 
in  custody  would  not  be  induced  by  any  amount  of  suffering  to 
criminate  their  sovereign  wrongfully. 

The  heroic  fortitude  displayed  by  both  prisoners,  and  their 
generous  refusal  to  obtain  a release  from  torment  on  a false  pre- 
tence, might  have  softened  many  a hardened  heart,  but  it  could 
not  soften  either  Coote  or  Parsons,  who  alone  witnessed  the  exa- 
mination (as  the  torture  was  technically  styled).  Standing  by, 
they  directed  the  fiendish  operation,  plying  the  sufferers  at  short 
intervals  with  such  questions  as  they  would  have  had  them 
answer  'affirmatively.  Maguire  being  deemed  the  most  hopeful 
subject,  was  first  placed  on  the  rack.  And.  in  sooth,  his  appear- 
ance when  first  introduced  to  the  fatal  chamber,  and,  surveying 
tho  various  instruments  of  torture,  was  such  as  to  inspire  his 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


145 


fiendish  persecutors  with  hope.  But  the  deathly  pallor  of  his  fine 
countenance,  the  tottering  of  his  limbs,  and  the  clammy  sweat 
which  bedewed  his  face  were  merely  outward  symptoms,  the 
natural  effect  of  extreme  bodily  terror,  suddenly  excited.  Those 
who  judged  of  the  chieftain’s  spirit  by  these  manifestations  of 
weakness  did  him  foul  wrong,  as  they  speedily  found  to  their  no 
small  amazement.  As  for  Coote,  he  missed  the  sight  of  the  first 
application.  He  was  summoned  from  the  room  just  as  the  unfor- 
tunate nobleman  was  stretched  on  the  rack,  What  detained  him 
from  the  luxurious  feast  of  cruelty  for  full  ten  minutes  neither 
Parsons  nor  any  one  present  could  guess,  but  when  he  returned 
and  hastily  took  his  seat  near  the  Lord  Justice,  that  personage 
noted  with  surprise  that  his  whole  frame  trembled,  and  his  every 
feature  was  convulsed  by  some  strong  emotion,  most  probably  of 
anger,  judging  from  the  livid  hue  which,  pervaded  the  whole. 
Had  any  one  been  bold  enough  to  question  him,  he  would  hardly 
have  told  that  two  persons  of  high  estate,  and  whose  solicitations 
even  he  had  found  hard  to  refuse,  had  been  pleading  with  pas- 
sionate earnestness  that  the  prisoners  might  not  be  subjected  to 
the  torture.  Threats  and  persuasions  had  been  tried,  and  rea- 
soning so  cogent  that  few  men  could  have  resisted  it.  Sir  Charles 
Coote,  however,  was  not  the  man  to  give  in  to  reason  — and,  at 
last,  as  the  agonized  groans  of  the  sufferer  fell  on  the  ears  of 
the  petitioners,  and  still  no  sign  of  obtaining  mercy  for  him,  the 
tones  of  entreaty  were  suddenly  changed  to  that  of  solemn  de- 
nunciation, and  one  of  the  two,  as  with  the  sudden  inspiration  of 
a prophetic  spirit,  exclaimed  with  fearful  energy : 

“ No  mercy  for  him  who  showeth  not  mercy — as  we  judge,  so 
shall  we  be  judged — doom  dark  and  dreadful  awaits  the  merci- 
less tyrant — >away — let’s  away — I cannot  listen  to  those  sounds  of 
agony — oh,  G-od!  wilt  not  Thou — Thou  have  pity  V 

There  was  a rush  of  sweeping  garments  down  the  long 
stone  passage,  the  other  individual,  after  another  fruitless 
entreaty,  followed  at  slower  pace,  and  Coote,  without  turn- 
ing his  head  to  look  after  either,  pushed  in  the  iron-stud- 
ded door  of  the  torture-room  with  a muttered  impreca- 
tion of  fearful  import,  and  glancing  with  hellish  exulta- 
tion at  the  panting,  fainting  firm  writhing  on  the  rack,  he 
7a 


146 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


took  his  seat  near  Parsons  with  as  much  composure  as  he  could 
assume,  although  that  was  very  little.  It  soon  became  evident 
that  nothing  satisfactory  was  to  be  elicited  from  the  prisoner — 
nothing,  at  least,  but  what  was  already  patent  to  the  whole 
country.  As  to  the  royal  commission  alleged  to  be  in  the  hands 
of  Sir  Plielim  O’Neill,  Maguire  heard  of  it  then  for  the  first  time, 
and  although  it  was  made  the  chief  point  of  his  examination 
— although  bone,  and  nerve,  and  sinew,  were  stretched  almost  to 
rending  asunder,  still  he  assured  them  with  a voice  almost 
extinct,  that  he  knew  nothing  whatever  of  such  a document,  or 
had  never  heard  of  its  existence.  At  last  the  unfortunate  victim 
fainted  away,  and  his  two  examiners  concluding  there  was  nothing 
to  be  made  of  him,  ordered  the  ministers  of  their  vengeance  to 
remove  him,  and  bring  in  the  other  prisoner. 

McMahon,  true  to  his  own  character,  and  having,  doubtless, 
braced  his  mind  for  the  first  effect  of  the  gloomy  chamber  and  its 
dismal  apparatus,  betrayed  no  sign  of  fear  as  he  glanced  around, 
and  when  his  eye  settled  on  Coote  and  Parsons,  its  expression 
was  that  of  calm  defiance,  mixed  with  a stern  resolution  that  was 
anything  but  encouraging  to  the  worthy  pair,  especially  after 
their  experience  of  the  weaker  and  more  timorous  Maguire, 
whose  “ stature  tall  and  slender  frame,”  were  also  strongly  con- 
trasted by  the  more  athletic  proportions  of  the  Tanist  of  Uriel. 
They  were  not  deceived  in  their  calculations,  for  if  the  peer 
proved  an  unsatisfactory  subject,  the  commoner  was  still  worse. 
Even  the  rack  could  not  quench  the  fire  of  his  free  spirit,  and  so 
far  from  gaining  any  admission  from  him  detrimental  to  the 
cause  for  which  ho  suffered,  they  heard  many  words  of  biting 
sarcasm,  and  many  home-truths  which  stirred  them  to  the  very 
quick.  Not  the  least  provoking  thing  was  that,  increase  the 
amount  of  torture  as  they  might,  they  could  not  extract  an  ex- 
pression of  pain  from  McMahon.  Like  the  son  of  Alknomook 
“ he  scorned  to  complain,”  and  although  his  members  were 
strained  till  the  joints  and  sinews  cracked,  and  the  big  drops  stood 
on  his  pallid  brow,  yet,  pressing  his  lips  together,  he  resolutely 
kept  from  uttering  even  -the  slightest  groan.  When  the  officials 
had  exercised  upon  the  brave  prisoner  the  full  measure  of  torment 
prescribed  by  the  disappointed  rage  of  the  examiners,  McMahon 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


147 


was  taken  from  the  rack  more  dead  than  alive,  though  still  con- 
scious, and  consigned  once  more  to  his  dark  and  silent  dungeon 
without  remedy  or  soothing  application  of  any  kind  to  his  bruised 
and  aching  limbs. 

Like  inhumanity  was  shown  to  Lord  Maguire,  but,  more 
fortunate  than  his  friend,  he  was  not  without  one  sympathiz- 
ing heart  to  compassionate  his  sufferings.  All  through  the 
long  and  dismal  night  a figure  muffled  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
sort  of  military  cloak  sat  weeping  in  silence  at  the  door  of  his 
cell,  crouched  up  in  a shapeless  heap,  listening  ever  to  the  piteous 
moans  and  half-suppressed  groans  of  the  lonely  sufferer  within. 
And  yet  though  some  mighty  passion  at  times  shook  the  frame 
of  the  solitary  watcher  without,  not  even  one  sigh,  one  whisper 
of  sympathetic  sorrow  escaped  its  lips.  No  turnkey’s  tread 
broke  in  on  the  mournful  vigil,  for  the  golden  key  which  had 
obtained  admission  “ for  some  moon-struck  Irish  damsel,”  as 
the  jailor  phrased  it,  kept  the  passage  which  contained  Maguire’s 
cell  from  all  official  visitation  that  night.  It  was  enough  for  the 
turnkey  in  charge  to  glance  down  the  dimly-lighted  corridor  as 
he  passed  its  entrance,  and  seeing  the  dark,  motionless  bulk  still 
there,  he  would  mutter  something  about  “ strange  tastes”  and 
pass  on  his  round. 


148 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

“Pity!  no,  no,  you  dare  not,  Priest, — not  you,  our  Father,  dare 
Preach  to  us  now  that  godless  creed — the  murderer’s  blood  to  spare  j 
To  spare  hi3  bLool,  while  tombless  still  our  slaughter’d  kin  implore 
‘Graves  and  revenge’  from  Gobbin-cliffs  and  Carrick’s  bloody  shore  ! 

“ Pity!  could  we  ‘forget — forgive,’  if  we  were  clods  of  clay, 

Our  martyr’d  priests,  our  banish’d  chiefs,  our  race  in  dark  decay, 
And  worse  than  all — you  know  it,  Priest — the  daughters  of  our  land, 
With  wiongs  we  blush’d  to  name  until  the  sword  was  in  our  hand  !” 

C.  G.  Duffy. 

All  was  bright  and  cheerful  in  the  Irish  camp  at  Newry. 
Roger  O’Moore  and  Hugh  McMahon  and  Rory  Maguire  and 
Lorcan,  Sir  Con  Magennis  and  many  others  of  the  chief  leaders 
were  there  with  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  and  Sir  Phelim,  now  tacitly 
recognized  as  the  O'Neill,  and,  moreover,  the  head  of  an  all- 
conquering  army — if  army  his  multitudinous  force  could  yet  be 
called — was  in  the  best  possible  humor  with  himself,  his  brother 
chiefs,  his  brave  followers,  and,  in  short,  all  the  world,  with  the 
trifling  exception  of  the  Lords  Justices  and  their  adherents,  and 
the  sluggish  Normans  of  the  Pale.  Even  the  usurping  English 
and  Scotch  within  his  own  borders  Sir  Phelim  could,  in  his  gra- 
cious mood,  somewhat  excuse,  inasmuch  as  restitution  had  been 
exacted  from  them,  and  that,  on  the  whole,  with  less  trouble 
than  might  be  expected.  In  fact  Sir  Phelim  could  have  almost 
sympathized  with  them  on  their  losses,  in  the  exuberance  of  his 
good-nature,  and  the  other  chiefs  were  no  little  amused  by  his 
unsoldierly  bearing  in  their  regard.  The  Irish  of  that,  as  of  for- 
mer days,  had  an  instinctive  dislike  to  be  shut  up  in  walled  towns, 
and  thus  it  was  that  although  the  neighboring  stronghold  was 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


149 


theirs,  they  chose  to  keep  outside  rather  than  inside  its  walls,, 
leaving  merely  a small  garrison  to  keep  the  place  in  possession. 
But  their  flag  was  floating  from  its  towers,  and  their  sentinels 
walked  its  ramparts,  and  they  knew  themselves  masters  of  Bag- 
nal’s  fortifications,  so  they  rested  content  in  their  encampment 
close  by  on  the  Newry-water,  well  supplied  with  provisions  by 
the  country-people  around,  and  little  heeding  the  rain  and  snow 
beating  in  at  times  through  the  frail  coverings  which  were  merely 
apologies  for  tents. 

The  sixth  day  of  November  arrived  and  Sir  Phelim  spoke  of 
making  another  attack  on  the  strong  walls  of  Lisnagarvey,* 
which  had  some  days  before  repulsed  a detachment  of  his  forces 
with  considerable  loss.  Some  few  castles,  too,  were  yet  in  the 
hands  of  the  foreigners,  and  these  must  be  gained,  if  possible, 
without  further  delay.  The  following  day  was  fixed  on  for  the 
attack  on  Lisnagarvey,  and  all  things  were  to  be  put  in  readiness 
over  night  for  an  early  start. 

This  arranged,  the  chieftains  met  by  invitation  in  Sir  Phelim’s 
tent  to  partake  of  the  evening  meal.  While  it  was  still  in  prepa- 
ration they  talked  over  the  general  prospects  of  the  war,  what 
had  been  already  done,  and  what  remained  to  do  before  freedom 
could  be  established  on  a fair  basis.  O’Moore  marvelled  much 
that  nothing  was  heard  from  his  friend  Owen  Hoe  O’Neill  to 
whom  he  had  straight  sent  off  a trusty  messenger  on  hearing  of 
Tyrone’s  assassination. 

“ An’  he  were  but  come,”  said  Rory,  '‘he  would  organize  our 
forces  and  teach  them  the  art  of  war ” 

“ What’s  amiss  with  them  at  this  present  V ’ demanded  Sir 
Phelim  snappishly ; “ I see  not  that  they  have  need  of  new-fangled 
modes  of  fighting — what  could  they  do  more  than  they  have 
done  here  in  the  North,  an’  they  had  fifty  Owen  Roes  to  head 
them  V’ 

“ I said  not  to  head  them , Sir  Phelim,”  replied  O’Moore  very 
gently,  “ but  only  to  train  them  in  the  military  art,  and  thereby 
make  them  more  efficient  soldiers ” 

“ Such  teaching  were  well  enough  for  the  Englishers  of  the 
Pale,”  said  O’Neill  with  increasing  petulence,  “but  the  clans- 
* Now  Lisburn. 


150 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


men  of  Tyr-Owen  and  Tyr-Connell — ay ! and  others  whose  valiant 
chiefs  are  here  present,  have  hut  small  need,  I think,  of  such  les- 
sons. Trust  me  they  can  use  their  pikes  and  skenes,  not  to 
speak  of  other  instruments  of  that  kind,  as  prettily  as  heart  could 
wish !” 

Most  of  the  other  chiefs,  however,  were  clearly  of  O’ Moore’s 
opinion  that  a leader  of  foreign  reputation,  and  of  tried  prowess, 
like  Owen  Roe,  was  much  to  be  desired. 

“ I would  you  had  a score  of  such,”  cried  Sir  Phelim  passion- 
ately, “an’  I warrant  me,  chiefs  of  Ulster,  you  would  soon  be  sick 
of  them,  and  wish  them  back  again  in  France  or  Flanders,  or 
wherever  they  came  from — who  did  you  say  was  come  V ’ to  one 
of  his  gillies  who  had  been  waiting  at  his  elbow  for  some  minutes 
vainly  trying  to  get  a hearing. 

“ It’s  Shamus  Beg,”  said  the  youth  quietly,  “ at  least  he  says 
so,  though,  for  my  part,  I’d  hardly  know  him ; he  wants  to  see 
you,  Sir  Phelim — why,  here  he  is  himself — well ! sure  enough  he 
must  be  in  the  d — 1 of  a hurry !”  he  added  looking  back  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  moved  away. 

“Well,  Shamus,  my  man,”  said  his  chieftain  with  restored  good 
humor,  as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  his  foster-brother,  for  whose 
return  he  had,  to  say  the  truth,  been  much  more  anxious  than  he 
would  wish  to  acknowledge ; “ well,  Shamus,  my  man,  what 
news  from  the  Island — I hope  you’ve  brought  the  colleen  back  this 
time — I can  ill  spare  you  these  busy  times  running  after  a colleen 
bawn  —but  how  are  all  in  Corny  Magee’s  *?” 

“ Not  one  of  them  breathes  the  breath  of  life,”  said  Shamus, 
speaking  with  difficulty,  “ in  that  house  anyhow,”  he  added  in 
an  under  tone. 

“ Why,  how  is  that  V*  asked  the  chieftain  in  surprise. 

“ They’re  all  dead,  Sir  Phelim,  dead — dead — and  their  house 
is  a heap  of  burned  rubbish — and  so  is  most  every  house  on  Is- 
land Magee — and  the  whole  place  is  like  a graveyard  with 
corpses,  only  that  there  they’re  above  ground ” 

Shamus  O’Hagan,”  said  O’Neill  with  increasing  agitation, 
“what  is  this  I hear'? — have  then  the  whole  people  been 
massacred  V’ 

“Ay,  every  soul  of  them— I may  say — it  was  a miracle  from 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


151 


God  that  I escaped  myself— and  it’s  little  I’d  care  to  do  that 
same  only  to  bring  the  news  to  you  myself ” 

“ Great  God!”  cried  O’Neill,  as  he  leaped  from  his  seat,  “ who 
did  this  horrible  deed  T* 

“ Monroe’s  bloody  sassums  from  Knockfergus — last  night,  in 
all  the  storm  they  marched  out  to  the  Island  and  murdered  and 
burned,  and  robbed  and  plundered  all  before  them — by  this 
morning’s  sun,  when  I stole  back  to  see  what  harm  was  done,  I 
found  only  one  living  being  in  the  place — and  he  groping  like 
myself  among  the  dead ! — oh  ! the  curse  of  God  villains  ! — the 
black,  blood-thirsty  hell-hounds  !”  cried  Shamus,  warming  up  at 
his  own  recital,  “ it  was  them  that  did  their  work  well ! — -fareer 
gar , but  they  did  !” 

“ Chieftains  of  Ulster ! — Catholics  ! gentlemen  ! hear  ye  that 
shouted  O’Neill,  now  thoroughly  roused  to  that  passion  which 
was  always  fearful. 

“ We  do,  O’Neill!”  said  Magennis,  who  had  been  sitting  next 
him,  but  all  now  rose  from  their  seats,  and  stood  looking  on  each 
other  and  on  their  host  with  faces  of  horror  and  blank  amaze- 
ment; “ we  hear  the  black  tidings,  and  mournful  it  comes  to  our 
ear,  0 son  of  the  Hy-Nial !” 

“ By  my  faith,  they’ll  be  worse  for  the  foreigners  than  they 
are  for  us  !”  exclaimed  Maguire  in  a voice  quivering  with  passion. 
“ It’s  all  over  now  with  the  poor  victims  on  Island  Magee,  but 
they  have  it  all  before  them ” 

“ And  if  it  do  not  overtake  them  in  every  corner  where  our 
arms  can  reach,”  said  McMahon  sternly,  “ may  Lhose  same  arms 
fail  us  in  our  sorest  need  !” 

“ Ay,”  said  O’Neill  in  a half-stifled  voice,  grinding  his  teeth  at 
the  same  time,  “ we  were  all  over  generous  with  the  brood  of 
vipers — we  were  sparing  them,  forsooth — ay,  were  we — sparing 
them  for  our  own  destruction — now,  Mr.  O’Moore,”  he  exclaimed, 
turning  suddenly  to  that  gentleman,  “ what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself  1 — this  milk— and — wTater  work — this  clemency  and  ge- 
nerous forbearance,  and  what  not,  was  a pet  scheme  of  yours — 
are  you  satisfied  now  that  they  deserve  nor  mercy  nor  pity  at  our 
hands — these  scorpious — these — oh!  that  my  single  arm  could 
deal  destruction  to  them  all — but  if  my  life  be  spared,  I will  give 


152 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


them  enough  of  this  bloody  work — ay  ! they  shall  have  it  to  their 
hearts’  content!” 

“ I knew  it,”  cried  Shamus,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  exultation 
and  the  burning  anticipation  of  revenge  ; “I  knew  O’Neill  would, 
stand  by  us  — lamh  dearg  aboo  /”  and  he  leaped  some  feet  from 
the  ground,  “ it’s  ourselves  will  pay  them  back  with  heavy  inter- 
est for  their  last  night’s  work — I told  them  Sir  Plielim  would  see 
justice  done! — lamh  dearg  aboo!  friends  of  my  heart,  but  it’s 
many  a proud  Sassenach  we’ll  bring  down  as  low  as  these  eyes 
saw  you !”  And  so  saying,  he  darted  from  the  room,  eager  to 
spread  the  doleful  news. 

“ Sir  Phelim,”  said  Rory  O’Moore  in  a tone  of  deep  emotion, 
“ believe  me  there  is  no  one  amongst  you  all  who  feels  more 
deeply  for  the  victims  of  this  inhuman  massacre,  or  more  detests 
the  cruel  treason  which  wrought  so  foul  a work,  but  ere  we  do 
aught  by  way  of  revenge,  I would  have  you  think  whether,  as 
Christians,  we  can  follow  in  the  bloody  track  of  our  enemies  with- 
out danger  of  drawing  down  on  ourselves  and  our  cause  the 
wrath  and  malediction  of  the  God  who  claimeth  vengeance  as  His 
own  right.  Shall  we,  by  indiscriminate  slaughter,  imbrue  our 
hands  in  innocent  blood,  after  the  manner  of  these  ruthless  fana- 
tics, and  stain  with  foul  crime  the  cause  now  so  holy  and  so  just  I 
Friends  ! Brothers  ! shall  we  forfeit  our  high  character  as  Chris- 
tian gentlemen,  and  worse  still,  our  hopes  of  heavenly  guerdon  'l 
— speak !” 

More  than  one  of  the  chieftains  was  about  to  make  reply,  but 
Sir  Phelim  broke  in  with  thundering  voice,  and  fierce  gesticula- 
tion : 

“Ay,  speak! — speak  all  of  ye! — tell  our  smooth-tongued 
Leinster  friend  that  ye  will  close  your  ears  to  the  cry  of  kindred 
1)1  ood — that  ye  will  obligingly  banish  from  your  minds  the  mem- 
ory of  last  night’s  slaughter,  and  in  all  Christian  charity  join 
hands  with  the  murderers,  and  humbly  thank  them  for  what  they 
have  done  ! Talk  of  staining  our  cause  by  punishing  those  mis- 
creants whom  no  other  power  can  or  will  punish  ! By  St.  Columb 
of  Hy  ! Rory  O’ Moore,  you’re  not  the  man  I took  you  for — an’  you 
were,  Island  Magee  would  stir  up  the  memory  of  Mullaghmast !” 

It  required  all  O’Moore’s  self-control  to  bear  this  taunt.  The 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


153 


hot  warm  blood  of  the  princes  of  Leix  took  fire  at  the  insult,  and 
his  generous  heart,  conscious  of  its  own  fervent  sympathies,  was 
deeply  wounded  by  a sarcasm  which  more  than  hinted  a want  of 
feeling  on  his  part  for  the  unhappy  victims  of  fanatic  cruelty. 
His  face,  pale  and  flushed  by  turns,  and  the  fitful  light  flashing 
from  his  deep  blue  eyes,  showed  at  once  the  struggle  going  on 
within  and  the  depth  of  the  emotion  which  he  would  fain  repress. 
Sir  Phelim  himself  seemed  to  expect  an  angry  retort,  for  he 
turned  his  fierce  eyes  on  Rory  with  a sort  of  dubious  expression 
as  though  prepared  either  to  defy  or  conciliate  as  occasion  might 
require.  If  he  expected  an  outburst  of  passion  from  O’ Moore  he 
was  much  mistaken,  for  the  latter,  after  a few  moments  of  obvious 
self-combat,  to  the  surprise  and  no  small  admiration  of  those 
present,  turned  calmly  to  the  other  chiefs  : 

“ I know  not  if  I merit  this  reproach,”  said  he,  “ mayhap  I do 
— although  there  be  none  that  I know  of — not  even  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill — who  hath  had  this  matter  more  at  heart  from  the  first 
hour  in  which  it  was  planned.  What  I have  felt  and  do  feel  for 
our  nation:s  wrongs  my  own  heart  knows,  what  I have  done  for 
the  cause,  it  beseems  not  me  to  say.  Gentlemen  of  Ulster,  I per- 
ceive there  be  some  amongst  you  with  whom  I could  never  agree 
on  the  mode  of  warfare  to  be  pursued — my  presence  is  of  small 
import  here,  and  much  work  is  to  be  done  in  other  parts  of  the 
country — I will,  therefore,  take  my  leave  of  you  all  for  a time, 
wishing  you  all  success  and  beseeching  you,  not  for  my  sake,  but 
for  that  of  the  great  cause  in  which  we  have  all  engaged,  to  cher- 
ish a brotherly  feeling  amongst  yourselves  and  avoid  all  unneces- 
sary bloodshed ” 

“Why,  surely,  you  are  not  going  without  your  dinner  V’  put 
in  Sir  Phelim,  with  a ludicrous  change  of  manner,  while  the 
other  gentlemen  crowded  around  with  eager  solicitations. 

But  O’ Moore,  having  once  made  up  his  mind,  was  not  to  be 
moved  from  his  purpose,  although  when  he  shook  Sir  Phelim’s 
hand  at  parting,  there  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  ill  feeling 
visible  on  his  face  or  in  his  demeanor.  Cullen  and  his  followers 
were  well  pleased  to  return  to  their  own  country, -where  all  was 
comparative  peace,  and  in  very  few  minutes  the  small  cortege 
was  ready  for  the  start.  Sir  Phelim,  in  high  dudgeon,  lounged  in 


154 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Ills  tent  while  O’ Moore  was  setting  out,  hut  his  absence  gave 
little  concern  to  Rory  or  the  other  chiefs,  all  of  whom  were  as- 
sembled in  front  of  McMahon’s  tent  to  wish  him  God  speed. 
Glancing  his  keen  eye  over  the  stately  group,  O’Moore  bent  from 
his  saddle  and  softly  whispered : 

“ Heed  not  his  wayward  humors — keep  together,  and  work  for 
the  common  good — as  Christians — till  God  sends  you  a fitting 
leader,  wanting  whom  but  little  can  be  done.  Such  a man  ye 
all  wot  of,  and,  with  God’s  good  aid,  he  will  soon  be  with  you — 
of  that  I am  well  assured.  Heaven  guard  ye  all,  friends  and 
gentlemen,  till  we  meet  again!”  These  last  words  were  said 
aloud,  and,  after  exchanging  a cordial  salute  with  his  friends, 
O’Moore  was  just  starting,  when  up,  at  full  speed,  rode  Bishop 
McMahon,  followed,  as  usual,  at  a respectful  distance  by  his 
faithful  Malachy.  v 

“Well  met,  Mr.  0’MOore,”  said  the  prelate  hastily,  after  ex- 
changing salutes  with  his  cousin  of  Uriel  and  the  other  chieftains  ; 
“ it  was  but  last  night  I heard  of  your  being  here,  and  as  I have 
many  things  of  moment  to  treat  of  with  you,  I hurried  off  this 
morning  betimes,  the  rather,”  he  added  with  a smile,  that  was 
not  of  mirth  but  sadness,  “ the  rather  as  our  good  Malachy  was 
anxious,  likewise,  to  have  speech  of  you.” 

I am  truly  happy,  then,  that  your  lordship  arrived  in  time," 
said  O’ Moore  courteously ; “a  few  minutes  later  and  I should 
have  been  on  my  road  southward.” 

The  Bishop  appeared  surprised.  “ Why,  I thought  you  pur- 
posed making  longer  stay  with  us  here,  an’  it  were  but  to  see 
how  our  brave  clansmen  move  in  war-harness.” 

0’ Moore  explained  in  few  words  what  had  happened,  adding 
that  his  presence  was  really  more  needed  elsewhere.  The  pre- 
late then  lowering  his  voice,  and  drawing  as  near  as  their  re- 
spective steeds  would  go,  inquired  if  there  were  any  recent  news 
from  Colonel  O’Neill,  and  whether  he  was  soon  to  be  expected. 
Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  appeared  much  pleased. 

“Well,”  said  he,  “Mr.  O’Moore,  as  you  have  given  me  good 
tidings,  it  is  but  fair  that  I do  the  same  by  you.  I have  got  word 
but  yester-eve  from  my  reverend  friend,  Father  Luke  Wadding, 
whom  you  doubtless  know — at  least  by  name.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


155 


“ Surely  I do,  my  good  lord,”  said  O’Moore  joyfully  ; “ when  in 
Spain  I saw  much  of  that  worthy  priest  and  true  patriot,  and 
there  be  few  men  living  whom  I hold  in  higher  esteem.  My  poor 
friend,  Hugh  O’Neill — now,  I trust,  with  God — was  first  moved 
to  hope  and  work  for  our  country’s  freedom  by  the  glowing  elo- 
quence of  that  great  and  good  man.  I warrant  me  he  is  taking 
note  of  our  poor  efforts ” 

“ That  is  he  and  more,  too,  which  you  will  hear  of  before  long — 
he  desires  to  know  what  truth  there  is  in  the  reports  current 
throughout  Europe  concerning  our  rising  here — he  says,  an’  it 
be  true  that  we  have  already  done  so  much  as  he  has  heard,  that 
we  shall  have  no  lack  of  succor,  and  that  right  speedily.  I am 
able  to  give  him  good  accounts  of  this  northern  country,  but 
what  shall  I say  regarding  the  other  provinces  and  the  English 
Catholics  of  the  Pale  V* 

“ As  regards  our  own  tribes  in  the  south  and  west,”  said 
O’Moore,  “ I am  daily  in  hopes  of  their  rising — portions  of  both 
Connaught  and  Leinster  are  even  nowin  action — as  for  the  Pales- 
men,  I must  say  that  my  hopes  of  succor  from  them  have  dwin- 
dled into  nothing — they  are  too  wedded  to  those  fat  lands  of 
theirs  to  gainsay  the  government  in  aught.” 

“ Ho ! ho !”  laughed  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  who  had  just  come 
within  hearing,  “ you  were  ready  to  measure  swords  with  me, 
but  late  for  saying  no  worse  thing  of  your  Norman  ‘ friends  and 
kinsmen.’  I joy  to  think  that  you  have  found  them  out  in  time 
— how  goes  it  with  my  good  lord  of  Clogher'?— have  you  heard 
the  news  from  Carrick  side  1” 

While  Sir  Phelim,  with  some  of  the  other  chiefs,  horrified  the 
Bishop  with  the  fatal  story  of  the  last  night’s  butchery,  Malachy 
approached  O’Moore,  who  merely  waited  to  take  his  leave  of  the 
prelate,  and  begged  permission  to  say  something  very  particular. 
The  permission  being  given  with  an  encouraging  smile,  Malachy 
opened  his  large  mouth  and  spoke  as  follows  : 

“ It’s  in  regard  to  the  heavy  load  that’s  on  my  heart  these  days 
that  I make  bold  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  O’Moore.  I can’t  sleep 
by  night  or  rest  by  day  only  thinking  of  our  noble  Tanist  that’s 
a prisoner  with  the  bloody  villains  in  Dublin  Castle  above.  The 


156 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord  save  him  from  worse  harm,  hut  somehow  I’m  troubled 
entirely  with  fearsome  dreams  and  visions  concerning  him.” 

“ Oh ! that  is  all  hut  natural,  my  good  Malachy,”  said  O’Moore 
with  assumed  gaiety;  “ your  faithful  heart  is  sore  grieved  for  your 
young  lord’s  misfortune,  and  I do  not  wonder  that  your  dreams 
should  be  wild  and  gloomy  !” 

Malachy  shook  his  head.  “ There’s  more  than  that  in  it,  sir, — 
ochone ! I know  there  is,  and  as  we’re  entirely  in  the  dark  about 
* him,  with  the  blessing  of  God  I’m  determined  to  make  my  way 
to  where  he  is  before  I’m  many  days  older.” 

O’Moore  was  touched  by  the  self-forgetting  devotion  of  the  faith- 
ful follower,  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  replied:  “Alas!  my 
poor  friend,  the  journey  to  Dublin  is  long  and  toilsome,  and 
supposing  even  you  got  there  in  safety,  it  might  profit  you 
little.  How  could  you  hope  to  get  speech  or  even  sight  of  Mr. 
McMahon  I” 

“Well!  as  for  the  journey,  the  Bishop  says  you  know  every 
foot  of  the  way,  and  that  if  you’d  let  me  follow  you  when  you’re 
going  back,  I’d  get  so  near  Dublin  that  I could  make  out  the  rest 
of  the  way  easy  enough  — if  I was  once  in  the  city,  God  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin  would  do  the  rest,  and  who  knows  but  I might  be 
able  to  get  to  do  something  for  Mister  Costelloe.” 

O’Moore  could  not  help  laughing  at  Malachy’s  grave  simplicity, 
. whereupon  that  individual  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  and  looked 
somewhat  offended  : “You  needn’t  laugh,  sir,”  he  said  in  a very 
serious  tone,  “ for  it’s  not  me  alone  that’s  troubled  in  mind  about 
this  matter  - there’s  his  honor  Lorcan  More  Maguire  has  got 
warnings  to  no  end  about  my  lord  Maguire  and  our  Tanist,  aiffl 
he  wouldn’t  believe  even  the  Bishop  but  something  very  bad  has 
happened  to  them  both — or  will  happen,  if  God  hasn’t  said  it, 
before  long.” 

The  person  thus  alluded  to  hearing  his  own  name  mentioned, 
— and  Malachy,  whether  by  accident  or  design,  spoke  it  in  a raised 
voice, — quickly  detached  himself  from  the  group  around  the 
Bishop,  and  came  eagerly  forward.  He  was  much  excited,  for 
he  had  been  warmly  combatting  some  rash  proposal  of  Sir 
Phelim’s,  but  on  hearing  of  Malachy’s  purpose,  he  became  calm 
in  a moment,  and  strenuously  recommended  the  visit  to  Dublin. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


157 


“ An’  it  were  not,”  said  he,  “ for  the  press  of  work  put  upon  us 
by  these  bloody  Scotch  I’d  be  up  in  Dublin  myself  before  now, 
for  I know  well  there’s  something  amiss  with  my  poor  Connor. 
Not  to  speak  of  all  the  signs  and  warnings  I have  got  of  late,  it 
was  only  the  other  night  I was  told  by  one  that  came  to  me  in 
my  sleep  that  the  Maguire  was  in  sore  bodily  distress  at  that 
hour,  and  that  unless  something  wonderful  turned  up  he’d  never 
stand  on  green  grass.  It  is  ease  to  my  mind  to  think  that 
Malachy  here  may  be  able  to  bring  us  some  word  of  Connor,  and 
if  he  didn’t  go,  I’d  go  myself,  for,  after  all,  I know  there’s  enough 
here  to  settle  accounts  with  the  enemy — ha ! ha ! if  there  was 
none  but  Sir  Phelim  and  our  Rory  yonder,  they’d  do  that  between 
them !” 

“ I believe  you,”  said  O’Moore  in  all  sincerity,  “ heaven  only 
grant  they  go  not  too  far  with  this  thing  of  revenge.  However, 
my  duty  lies  elsewhere,  and  if  the  Bishop  be  content  to  spare 
Malachy,  he  can  journey  with  us — let  me  see — to  the  very 
borders  of  Dublin  county,  whence  I can  send  a trusty  messenger 
to  guide  him  to  the  city  !” 

The  Bishop,  being  appealed  to,  declared  himself  quite  willing, 
albeit  that  he  feared  Malachy's  simplicity  and  inexperience,  yet, 
as  he  said  apart  to  0’ Moore,  such  persons  often  fared  better  in 
trying  contingencies  than  those  of  sharper  wit,  so  in  God’s  name 
he  dismissed  Malachy  with  his  blessing,  commending  him  earn- 
estly to  the  guiding  care  of  his  Leinster  friend.  Not  so  McMahon, 
who,  when  informed  of  Malachy’s  project,  ridiculed  the  whole 
scheme,  and  scouted  as  something  altogether  impossible  the 
notion  of  his  reaching  Dublin  in  safety,  or,  at  all  events,  of  his 
seeing  his  brother.  His  chieftain’s  mockery  disturbed  poor 
Malachy  not  a little,  but  with  the  Bishop’s  blessing  and  consent 
he  consoled  himself,  and  started  hopefully  for  the  unknown  re- 
gions of  the  English  Pale,  not,  however,  without  giving  the  pre- 
late sundry  charges  relating  to  the  care  of  their  slender  stock  of 
altar  linen  and  other  matters  of  a like  nature. 

While  Rory  0’ Moore  was  rapidly  retracing  his  way  to  the  con- 
fines of  the  Pale,  and  thence  over  the  rich  plains  of  Louth  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Dundalk,  where  he  expected  to  meet  Colonels 
Plunket  and  O’Byrne,  the  Red  Hand  was  smiting  in  wrath  and 


158 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


vengeance  the  terror-stricken  settlers  in  the  northern  parts  of 
Ulster.  On  the  very  day  after  the  receipt  of  Shamus’s  fateful  news, 
Sir  Phelim  led  a strong  force  against  Sir  William  Brownlow’s 
Castle  of  Augher,  situate  in  the  county  of  Tyrone,  and  the 
place  being  taken  after  some  resistance,  the  garrison  and  house- 
hold servants — all,  in  short,  who  were  found  in  arms,  were  put  to 
the  sword.  At  the  intercession  of  Lady  Brownlow,  however,  she, 
her  husband  and  family,  were  spared,  and  suffered  to  quit  the 
Castle,  of  which  Sir  Phelim  immediately  took  possession.  During 
that  first  scene  of  slaughter  on  the  part  of  the  Irish  troops,  and 
in  many  a bloody  act  of  retributive  justice  in  after  days,  their 
watchword  was  “ Island  Magee  !”  and  when  pity  touched  their 
hearts  or  unnerved  their  arms,  the  recollection  of  that  wanton 
and  most  savage  massacre  silenced  the  voice  of  compassion. 
From  that  time  forward,  the  war  in  Ulster  assumed  a fiercer  and 
more  sanguinary  character,  and  its  horrors  were  daily,  hourly 
increased  by  mutual  acts  of  retaliation.  Roused  to  fury  by  the 
savage  cruelty  and  base  treachery  of  Monroe’s  Scotch  fanatics, 
and  conscious  that  his  own  forces  had  previously  been  almost  too 
sparing  of  bloodshed,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  gave  full  rein  to  his 
fierce  passions,  and  thenceforward  treated  the  enemies  of  his 
country  according  to  what  he  believed  their  deserts. 


J 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


159 


CHAPTER  ^XIIL 

“ A great  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate, 

And  greatly  falling  with  a falling  state.” 

Pope 

“ Full  many  mischiefs  follow  cruel  wrath, 

Abhorr’d  bloodshed,  and  tumultuous  strife, 

Unmanly  murder,  and  unthrifty  scathe, 

Bitter  despite  with  rancor’s  rusty  knife, 

And  fretting  grief  the  enemy  of  life.” 

Spenser. 

When  the  new  order  of  things  began  to  extend  into  Breffny, 
and  the  clansmen  were  more  or  less  imbued  with  the  fierce  spirit 
of  revenge  coming  southward  on  every  breeze  from  the  north 
country ; when  every  tongue  was  busy  with  the  horrors  of  the 
Antrim  massacre,  and  many  a stout  Breffny-man  was  heard  to 
mutter  a stern  regret  for  past  clemency  thrown  away,  it  was  then 
that  Philip  O’Reilly  was  called  upon  for  the  display  of  those 
high  qualities  which  have  since  won  the  admiration  of  all.  Like 
his  friend  O’Rourke,  he  knew  how  to  battle  for  the  right  without 
staining  his  soul  with  murder  or  degrading  the  noble  profession 
of  arms  by  unnecessary  cruelty.  O’Reilly  and  O’Rourke,  gener- 
ous, noble  and  warm-hearted,  were  neither  of  them  insensible  to 
the  wrongs  and  outrages  committed  on  their  people — they  felt,  as 
brave  men  could  not  but  feel,  their  hearts  swell  with  indignation 
and  disgust  at  the  atrocious  massacre  which  had  stirred  up 
Catholic  Ulster  from  end  to  end,  and  they,  too,  panted  for 
revenge,  but  their  revenge  took  a higher  range  with  more  solid 
advantages  in  view.  Little  gratification  would  it  be  to  either  of 
these  Breffny  chieftains  to  see  Protestant  blood  shed  in  torrents, 


1G0 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


or  to  know  that  every  foreigner  in  the  land  was  put  to  cruel 
torture ; these  things  were  foreign  to  their  nature,  and  they  never 
could  delight  in  human  suffering,  but  to  crush  the  power  of  the 
stranger,  to  smite  the  oppressor  in  honorable  warfare,  and 
raise  the  old  tribes  everywhere  to  that  position  which  they  ought 
to  hold  in  their  own  land — finally,  to  re-establish  the  true  faith  in 
all  its  pristine  glory,  and  to  humble  the  haughty  crest  of  heresy 
even  to  the  dust — such  was  the  revenge  for  which  O’Rourke  and 
O’Reilly  thirsted,  such  were  the  ends  which  they  had  in  view  in 
raising  their  respective  standards. 

During  the  stormy  days,  and  weeks,  and  months  which  fol- 
lowed the  massacre  of  Island  Magee,  the  clans  of  Breffny  O'Reilly 
were  not  idle  any  more  than  their  neighbors  of  Uriel  and  Breffny 
O’Rourke.  They  had  their  musters,  and  marches  and  counter- 
marches amid  the  swelling  hills  and  pastoral  knolls  of  their  an- 
cient principality.  The  several  chieftains  who  looked  up  to 
O’Reilly  as  their  head  had  all  more  or  less  contributed  to  the 
general  success  of  the  northern  army,  and  each,  in  his  own 
district,  dispossessed  the  English  planters  in  a summary  manner 
of  the  castles  with  which  they  had  studded  the  country.  The 
Protestant  inhabitants,  necessarily  regarded  as  adherents  of  the 
government,  and,  therefore,  not  to  be  tolerated, — were  ejected 
with  very  little  ceremony,  and  sent  to  seek  winter-quarters  else- 
where. In  some  places,  where  an  obstinate  resistance  was  made, 
and  the  native  forces  suffered,  the  power  of  the  chief  was  not 
able  to  withhold  his  people  from  taking  revenge  in  their  own 
hands,  although  even  then  the  executions  were  confined  to  the 
most  prominent  and  rabid  of  the  enemy. 

There  was  one  house,  however,  in  O’Reilly’s  country — one 
Protestant  dwelling  which  no  hostile  force  ever  attacked,  no 
random  shot  ever  reached.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  glebe-house, 
of  plain  yet  respectable  exterior,  surrounded  by  pleasant  woods 
and  fertile,  well-tilled  fields.  Here  the  Anglican  bishop  of  Kil- 
more  had  dwelt  in  peace  for  many  a year ; a man  of  peace  he 
was,  a venerable  man,  devoted  to  study  and  the  care  of  his  flock, 
meddling  not  with  his  Catholic  neighbors,  in  their  spiritual  affairs, 
but  serving  them  when  occasion  required,  to  the  utmost  of  his 
ability.  A good  man  of  quief^  unostentatious  habits,  kind  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


161 


benevolent  to  all,  was  Bishop  Beddell,  of  I^ilmore,  the  same 
whom  our  readers  will  remember  as  so  favorably  mentioned  by 
the  Countess  of  Ormond,  when  pleading  the  cause  of  the  pro- 
scribed Catholics  with  her  husband.  Respecting  the  religious 
convictions  of  others,  this  exemplary  man  was  himself  respected 
in  times  when  religious  rancor  was  at  the  highest,  and  his  house 
was  a sanctuary  never  violated  by  the  generous  and  grateful 
clansmen  of  Breffny.  By  it  they  marched  at  all  hours  of  the 
night  and  day  with  banners  flying,  and  weapons  gleaming,  often 
in  all  the  flush  of  victory,  and  again,  smarting  under  some  recent 
provocation,  yet  never  was  their  anger  directed  against  the  house 
of  Bishop  Beddell,  although  it  was  well  known  that  many  Pro- 
testants driven  from  other  parts  of  the  country  were  sheltered 
within  its  walls.  Had  the  Anglican  prelate  been  other  than  he 
was,  and  more  like  to  his  brothers  of  the  established  episcopate, 
his  snug  glebe-house  would  have  passed  into  other  hands  as  his 
cathedral  and  parish  churches  had  done  before,  but,  as  it  was, 
he  lived  there  in  peace,  with  his  friends  and  his  numerous  house- 
hold, protected  by  the  noble-hearted  O'Reilly  and  other  influen- 
tial Catholics  of.  the  country. 

On  a certain  day  when  the  good  Bishop  had  the  numerous  oc- 
cupants of  his  house  assembled  in  his  best  parlor  for  some  relig- 
ious exercise,  word  was  brought  him  that  the  Catholic  bishop  had 
come  to  visit  him,  and  was  then  waiting  in  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment. This  announcement  was  heard  with  dismay  by  the  little 
congregation  who  naturally  feared  that  it  boded  no  good  to  them. 
Bishop  Beddell,  however,  calmed  their  fears  and  assured  them 
that  Dr.  McSweeny  was  not  the  man  to  take  advantage  of  their 
misfortunes  or  betray  them  to  the  Philistines  of  the  northern 
country. 

“ Howsoever,”  said  the  good  Doctor,  “ I will  go  and  see  what 
the  gentleman’s  business  may  be  with  me,  and  when  I have  had 
speech  of  him  I will  straightway  return  hither.  Meanwhile,  rest 
ye  here  in  peace,  supplicating  the  Lord  on  behalf  of  his  poor 
dispersed  flock,  that  he  keep  them  from  the  hands  of  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill  and  such  like  men  of  blood.” 

The  meeting  between  the  two  bishops  was  characteristic  of  the 
times.  In  Dr.  McSweeny,  a tall  dignified  man  of  middle  age,  the 


162 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


polished  bearing  of  the  foreign  ecclesiastic,  the  graduate  of  Royal 
Salamanca,  was  blended  with  the  somewhat  patronizing  air  of  a 
man  suddenly  raised  from  an  outlawed  and  hidden  life  to  one  of 
triumph  and  jubilation, — from  a position  of  constant  dependence 
to  one  of  absolute  command  and  all  but  unlimited  power. 

In  the  bent  form  of  the  old  Protestant  bishop,  and  on  his  mild 
but  wrinkled  brow,  there  was  deep  sorrow,  but  nothing  of  defer- 
ence or  deprecation.  On  the  contrary  there  was  in  his  aged  eyes 
when  he  raised  them  to  the  face  of  his  visitor  a look  of  something 
like  reproach  which  the  other  was  at  no  loss  to  understand,  al- 
though quite  conscious  that  he  did  not  deserve  it  at  Bishop  Bed- 
dell’s  hands. 

The  two  had  met  but  once  before,  and  the  memory  of  that  long- 
past  meeting  was  fresh  in  the  mind  of  each,  giving,  it  might  be, 
a sort  of  constraint  to  the  demeanor  of  both. 

“ Times  are  changed  with  us,  Dr.  Beddell,  since  last  we  met,” 
observed  the  Catholie  bishop  after  they  had  exchanged  a some- 
what distant  salute. 

“ Fear  not  that  I forget  the  change,”  the  other  replied  with 
more  warmth  than  he  commonly  displayed,  “ the  Lord  hath  hum- 
bled us,  we  trust  for  our  good ! — will  it  please  you  to  sit  T* 

“ My  time  is  short,”  the  Bishop  replied,  “ for,  in  these  unhappy 
days,  my  avocations  are  many  and  arduous.” 

“ Unhappy  days  !”  repeated  Beddell  with  some  sternness,  “ and 
whose  be  the  fault,  Owen  McSweeny  V ’ 

“ I came  not  hither  to  dispute  a question  which  the  sword 
must  decide  and  the  might  of  armies,”  said  the  Bishop  coldly, — 
“ Dr.  Beddell.  I respect  you  beyond  all  men  of  your  persuasion — 
you  once  served  me,  too,  in  a matter  of  great  moment,  which  I 
wish  not  to  forget  - our  people  are  moved  to  wrath  at  the  present 
time  by  the  recent  bloody  act  of  Monroe’s  soldiers  at  Island  Ma- 
gee— so  that  even  these  kindly  men  of  Breffny,  who  have  hitherto 
respected  your  name  and  character,  may  in  some  moment  of 
frenzied  irritation  forget  all  else  but  your  connection  with  that 
establishment  which  truly  they  have  no  reason  to  love — nay,  hear 
me  out,  Doctor ! Even  O’Reilly’s  power  may  not  always  be  able 
to  protect  you — that  is,  when  other  portions  of  our  army  come 
to  pass  this  way — mine  will  never  fail  with  Catholic  soldiers — • 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


163 


would  you  that  I send  a small  party  hither  who,  wearing  my 
cognizance  and  colors,  may  secure  you  against  all  attacks  from 
our  troopsJ” 

“ I pray  you,  good  brother,  excuse  my  compliance,”  said  Bed- 
dell  hastily ; “ I fear  me  much  that  the  presence  of  your  armed 
followers  would  do  more  harm  than  good  in  my  quiet  household. 
And,  moreover,  if  the  rebel  hordes — excuse  me — if  the  army  of 
Sir  Phelim  unhappily  comes  this  way,  our  chance  of  life  or 
escape  were  small,  indeed,  even  under  favor  of  your  reverence’s 
cognizance  and  colors,  which  I pray  you  to  believe  I hold  in  all 
respect.” 

The  grave  caustic  irony  of  these  last  words  was  keenly  felt  by 
Bishop  McSweeny,  who,  conscious  of  his  own  good  intentions, 
could  not  help  being  somewhat  nettled.  Taking  his  hat  to  de- 
part, he  coolly  observed  : 

“ My  reverence’s  cognizance  may  serve  you  yet,  Master  Bed- 
dell,  for  all  you  seem  to  set  so  slight  store  on  my  poor- ability  to 
befriend  you.  It  may  be  that  Philip  O’Reilly,  on  whose  protection 
you  now  depend,  may  one  day  fail  you — should  that  ever  come 
to  pass,  you  will  find  a friend  in  the  Bishop  of  Kilmore.’' 

“ Nay,  nay,  good  sir,”  cried  the  old  man,  following  his  visitor 
to  the  door,  “ if  you  mean  yourself,  assuredly  the  Bishop  of 
Kilmore  stands  not  in  your  shoes — the  Cathedral  maketh  not 
the  Bishop,  Owen — I pray  you,  remember  that !” 

“ I remember,  John,  I remember,”  said  the  Bishop  looking 
back  over  his  shoulder  with  a humorous  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, “ I stand  beholden  to  you  for  that  new  lesson  in  theo- 
logy. But,  man,  King  Charles  himself  cannot  make  a Bishop 
here  now,  and  as  for  Cathedrals,  there  be  no  one  in  all  Ireland 
more  expert  at  making  them  than  the  O’Reilly,  Heaven  bless 
him! — except  it  be  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  who  has,  I hear,  turned 
stone  mason  of  late  for  the  building  of  such  like  fabrics  !” 

“ Ay  ! they  may  laugh  and  jest  that  win,”  cried  Bishop  Beddell, 
still  more  excited,  and  raising  his  cracked  voice  to  the  utmost ; 
“ but  forget  not  that  I am  and  will  be  Bishop  of  Kilmore,  while 
God  spares  me  life  ! — of  that  title  no  man  can  rob  me,  Dr.  Mc- 
Sweeny, for  it  came  to  me  from  God  himself!” 

“ Prom  his  late  Majesty  King  James  you  mean — howsoever, 


164 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Dr.  Beddell,  keep  your  temper  an’  you  may  not  keep  your  title 
— my  humble  service  to  you  !” 

“ But  you  will  bear  me  witness,”  shouted  the  excited  old  man, 

“ that  I gave  not  in  to  your  unlawful  assumption  of  my  dig- 
nity !” 

“ I pray  you,  shelter  yourself  from  the  cold !”  was  the  Bishop’s 
good-hurnored  answer  as  lie  mounted  the  horse  which  one  of  his 
attendants  held  for  him  at  a little  distance  down  the  avenue,  and, 
waving  his  parting  salute,  he  rode  away  at  a brisk  trot,  wilfully 
closing  his  ears  to  the  vehement  protestations  of  the  superseded 
dignitary  of  King  Charles’s  church. 

But,  alas!  while  the  good  Bishop  of  Kilmore  and  the  chival- 
rous chieftains  of  Breffny  were  thus  shielding  from  harm  the 
venerable  man  who,  in  his  better  days,  had  shown  himself  the 
friend  of  the  persecuted  Catholics,  far  different  scenes  were  being  - 
enacted  in  various  parts  of  the  same  province,  where  the  lurid 
flame  of  civil  war  burned  more  fiercely  and  made  greater  havoc. 

Far  amongst  the  wild  mountains  of  Tyrone,  where  one  of  the 
rude  castles  of  the  O’Neills  stood  in  its  strength  defending  an 
important  pass,  one  of  the  saddest  episodes  of  that  sad  drama  had 
lately  taken  place.  When  Charlemont  Castle  was  taken  by  Sir  Phe- 
lim  O’Neill  it  was  by  a clever  stratagem,  and  the  chief,  well  disposed 
towards  the  veteran  soldier,  who  was  at  once  its  owner  and  the 
commander  of  its  garrison,  strictly  forbade  his  followers  to  haim 
him  or  his,  and,  after  some  deliberation,  (during  which  he  had 
been  removed  more  than  once  for  greater  security  from  one 
stronghold  to  another,)  finally  resolved  on  sending  him  to  the 
mountain-fortalice  above  referred  to  until  such  time  as  he  might 
turn  his  capture  to  account  by  obtaining  other  prisoners  in  ex- 
change for  him.  Thither,  then,  Lord  Caulfield  was  conveyed, 
with  his  family,  in  the  early  part  of  November,  escorted  by  a 
party  of  O’Neill’s  men.  Lady  Caulfield  and  her  children  were 
safely  lodged  in  the  Castle,  her  husband  was  already  on  the 
threshold  when,  unluckily  for  himself,  he  made  some  imprudent 
remark  concerning  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  little  complimentary  to 
that  chieftain’s  honor  or  'good  faith.  He  was  passing  between 
some  six  or  eight  of  O’Neill’s  clansmen  at  the  moment,  and  their 
hot  blood  could  ill  brook  words  derogatory  to  their  chief. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  1,  i “> 

“ Say  that  again,”  cried  one  of  them,  “ and  you  pass  not  that 
threshold  with  your  life !” 

Caulfield,  unawed  by  this  threat,  repeated  what  he  had  said, 
and  with  increased  bitterness — another  moment  and  six  skenes 
were  in  his  body  : he  fell  across  the  threshold  a lifeless  corpse, 
the  victim,  surely  of  his  own  imprudence,  rather  than  of  premed- 
itated treachery  on  the  part  of  his  captors.  The  cry  of  terror 
and  dismay  which  arose  from  their  comrades  was  not  needed  to 
alarm  the  culprits,  who  had  hardly  done  the  deed  when  they 
would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  it.  They  knew  that  their 
chieftain’s  wrath  was  terrible  and  that  he  would  exact  a rigorous 
account  of  the  blood  they  had  just  shed. 

When  Sir  Phelim  heard  of  what  had  happened,  he  acted  with 
a coolness  little  to  be  expected  from  his  fiery  nature.  He  neither 
blustered  nor  stormed  as  was  his  wont  when  laboring  under  great 
excitement,  but  he  ordered  the  offenders  to  be  brought  before 
him,  and  waited  their  appearance  with  a calmness  more  terrible 
to  those  around  who  knew  him  well,  than  the  most  violent  mani- 
festation of  anger. 

Some  minutes  elapsed  without  the  offenders  making  their  ap- 
pearance, and  Sir  Phelim  began  to  wax  impatient,  especially  as, 
from  certain  significant  looks  and  gestures  passing  rapidly 
amongst  his  officers,  he  concluded  that  the  delay  was  not  acci- 
dental. Pacing  to  and  fro  in  front  of  his  tent,  he  repeated  his 
command  in  a louder  and  more  threatening  tone  — still  no  prisoners 
appeared,  and  the  angiy  chief  was  about  to  proceed  on  a quest 
that  would  likely  have  proved  fatal  to  those  concerned,  when  a 
stir  was  noticed  in  another  direction,  and  round  a projecting 
angle  of  a wall  rode  up  to  the  general’s  tent  a young  gentleman 
of  grave  and  sedate  aspect,  with  an  elderly  lady  in  a cloak  and 
riding-hood,  mounted  on  a pillion  behind  him.  They  were 
followed  by  a couple  of  serving-men  whose  composed  demeanor, 
round  ruddy  faces,  and  smooth,  well-combed  locks  pointed  them 
out  as  of  Saxon  rather  than  Gaelic  origin.  It  was  English,  too, 
that  the  party  spoke,  when  they  came  to  exchange  salutations 
with  those  of  the  camp. 

Sir  Phelim  advanced  hastily  to  assist  the  lady  from  her  ele- 
vated seat,  though  his  greeting  manifested  anything  but  pleasure. 


166 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ In  God’s  name,  mother,  what  wind  blew  you  hitherward — 
surely  this  be  no  place  for  hoods  or  kirtles !” 

“ I know  it,  Phelim,  and  I come  not  from  choice,  believe  my 
word,  but  pressed  by  sore  trouble  and  anxiety  on  your  account 
I prayed  Alexander  to  conduct  me  hither  that  I might  hear 
from  your  own  lips  the  truth  which  will  either  give  me  rest  or  a 
heavier  load  of  sorrow  to  bear  for  evermore.” 

“ Why,  what  in  the  d ’s  name  is  she  driving  at,  Alick 

cried  Sir  Piielim  with  ill-concealed  discontent  as  he  turned  to 
the  gentleman,  who  was  no  other  than  his  half-brother,  by  a 
second  marriage.  “ What  docs  it  all  mean  7” 

Alexander  Hovenden  only  smiled  and  said  : “ she  will  tell  you 
that  full  quickly  !” 

“ I came  hither,  Phelim,”  said  the  aged  matron,  dropping 
her  voice  so  as  to  reach  only  her  son’s  ear,  “ to  know  from  your- 
self in  person  whether  you  be  chargeable  with  the  death  of  that 
good  man,  Lord  Caulfield,  as  people  say  you  are — tell  me,  my 
son  ! what  am  I to  believe  concerning  this  foul  deed,  for  since  I 
hoard  of  it,  I cannot  eat,  or  drink,  or  sleep !” 

“ Mother,”  said  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  and  opening  his  large  eyes 
wide  he  fixed  them  full  on  those  of  his  parent,  “ mother,  as  I 
hope  to  be  saved,  I solemnly  assure  you  that  I knew  not  of 
this  murder — for  murder  I do  call  it — until  it  was  too  late  to  do 
aught  but  punish  the  guilty — which  that  I do  in  all  sincerity, 
you  may  see  in  a few  minutes’  time.  Why,  Mistress  Hovenden, 
my  good  mother,  I had  hoped  much  from  the  imprisonment  of 
my  Lord  Caulfield,  whose  death  I look  on  as  a heavy  loss,  not  to 
speak  of  the  good  esteem  in  which  I held  him  as  a right  valiant 
old  soldier  and  a jovial,  hearty  neighbor — but  stay — -what  is  this 
— how — do  mine  eyes  see  right,  or  is  that  Shamus  7” 

Alas  ! it  was  Shamus,  the  beloved  foster-brother,  the  trustiest 
vassal  that  ever  followed  chief  to  the  field — and  there  he  stood, 
one  of  the  six  whom  Sir  Phelim  had  already  doomed  to  death. 
Seeing  him  thus,  O’Neill  struck  his  brow  with  his  open  palm,  and 
turned  away  in  violent  agitation.  Turning  again  he  walked  close 
up  to  Shamus,  whose  downcast  eyes  scarcely  appeared  to  notice 
his  presence. 

“ Shamus  !”  said  the  chief,  in  a voice  trembling  with  emotion, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


107 


“ Shamus,  are  you  a murderer — did  you  aid  in  slaying  a prisoner 
entrusted  to  your  care — a prisoner  of  rank  and  note  'l — speak, 
Shamus,  did  you  do  this  deed  ?’ 

“ My  chief,  I did  not,"  said  the  foster-brother,  raising  his  eyes 
for  the  first  time,  “ I have  made  my  death-shrift  but  now,  and  I 
tell  you  —believe  me  or  not — that  I am  innocent  of  this  crime, 
which  Modder  and  the  rest  pan  tell  you  as  well  as  I.” 

But  Modder  O’Neill,  a fierce-looking  mountaineer  with  fiery 
red  hair,  when  questioned  by  his  chief,  declined  to  answer,  al- 
leging that  he  knew  nothing  more  than  that  Shamus  Beg  was  on 
the  spot — whether  he  struck  the  Sassenach  lord  he  could  not  tell. 

“ God  forgive  you;  Modder  !”  cried  Shamus,  in  a reproachful 
tone,  “ you  know  well  I had  neither  act  nor  part  in  it,  only  that 
I helped  to  lift  the  corpse  when  them  that  ought  to  be  in  my 

place  took  to  their  heels 

“ And  who  is  that?"  demanded  Sir  Phelim. 

“ If  you  dare !”  cried  Modder,  with  a look  of  savage 

ferocity. 

“ I would  dare,’-  replied  Shamus,  returning  the  look  with  one 
of  stern  defiance,  “only  that  what  I never  done  before,  I’ll  not  do 
now — that  is  turn  informer — Sir  Phelim,  if  you  think  me  guilty, 
I’m  ready  to  bear  whatever  punishment  you  lay  on  me !’’ 

“ You  must  die,  then,  Shamus,  though  it  breaks  my  heart  to 
say  it ” 

“ Son ! son  !’*  exclaimed  Mistress  Hovenden,  coming  forward 
with  clasped  hands,  “the  same  milk  nursed  you  both — for  the  sake 
of  his  dead  mother  who  loved  you  as  her  own,  spare  his  life — 
spare  poor  Shamus,  I beseech  you  1” 

“ Mother,  I cannot  spare  him  without  sparing  the  others,  and 
I have  sworn  by  the  soul  of  the  great  Nial  that  the  murderers  of 
Toby  Caulfield  shall  die — die  !"  he  repeated  with  fierce  empha- 
sis, stamping  his  foot  at  the  same  time  ; “ if  it  were  my  own  bro- 
ther, he  should  share  the  same  fate ’’ 

“ More  shame  for  you,  O’Neill,”  said  Modder  suddenly,  “ it 
was  on  your  account  we  did  it — an’  it  were  to  do  over  again,  you 
might  do  it  yourself ” 

“ Silence !”  cried  the  chieftain  in  a voice  of  thunder ; “ you 
have  left  a stain  upon  my  name  which  your  heart’s  blood  can 


1GS 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


never  wash  out — here,  you,  Teague,  take  twelve  of  the  best 
shots  in  your  company,  and  shoot  these  six  there  behind — be- 
hind— ” he  strove  to  keep  up  a show  of  stern  indifference  but 
it  would  not  do — his  rough  voice  sank  to  a whisper,  and  at  last 
failed  him  quite — pointing  with  his  hand  to  the  fatal  spot  which 
he  would  have  mentioned,  he  rushed  away,  followed,  however,  by 
several  of  the  chieftains  who,  hearing  of  what  was  going  on, 
hastened  to  intercede  for  the  unhappy  culprits. 

But  Sir  Phelim,  who  had  already  rejected  his  mother’s  inter- 
cession, was  little  likely  to  hear  them  with  more  favor,  and  in  a 
very  few  minutes  all  would  have  been  over  with  the  prisoners, 
when  a duplicate  image  of  Modder  O'Neill  was  seen  making  his 
way  through  the  doggedly  silent  and  discontented  crowd,  and 
seizing  Shamus  by  the  arm  as, fiercely  as  though  he  would  have 
torn  him  to  pieces,  he  dragged  him  back  to  the  presence  of  their 
chief,  crying  with  the  fury  of  a maniac : 

“ It  was  I did  it,  Sir  Phelim,  and  not  him — he  wouldn’t  inform 
on  me,  so  I will !” 

A cry  of  anguish  from  Modder  brought  all  eyes  on  him,  and 
the  ghastly  visage  with  which  he  stared  on  his  twin  brother,  thus 
throwing  himself  on  death,  was  a piteous  sight  to  behold.  IIow 
that  wild,  fierce  man  must  have  loved  that  no  less  uncouth  bro- 
ther of  his,  and  the  despairing  look  with  which  he  regarded  him, 
moved  every  heart.  But  Phadrig  heeded  him  not  at  all,  so  intent 
was  he  on  carrying  out  his  wild  idea  of  justice. 

“ I did  it,  Sir  Phelim,  and  not  Shamus — I stabbed  the  Sassen- 
ach chief — he  said  you  were  a base  traitor — and  I silenced  his 
lying  tongue  with  my  skene — I did  it,  and  I’m  willing  to  die  for 
it,  but  let  Shamus  go! — for  he’s  innocent!” 

“Thank  God!”  murmured  Mistress  Hovenden,  and  her  young- 
er son  advancing  shook  Shamus  warmly  by  the  hand. 

“ It  is  well,”  said  Sir  Phelim,  the  ruddy  tinge  returning  sud- 
denly to  his  cheek  and  brow,  “release  Shamus,  Teague,  and 
take  Phadrig  O’Neill  in  custody.  I am  sorry  for  you,  Phadrig, 
my  honest  fellow ! by  the  sounding  Lia  Fial , I am,  but  justice 
must  be  done ” 

It  was  now  Shamus’s  turn  to  sue  for  “ poor  witless  Phadrig,” 
and  other  mediators  of,  higher  rank  were  not  slack  in  their  sup- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


169 


plications  for  a general  pardon  of  the  six, — even  his  own  chap- 
lain adding  his  entreaties, — but  Sir  Phelim  silenced  them  all  with 
a ferocity  that  was  partly  assumed,  and  having  allowed  time,  as 
a special  grace,  for  Phadrig  to  receive  the  last  rites,  he  consigned 
the  prisoners  to  their  fate,*  with  as  much  coolness  as  though 
they  were  so  many  of  the  hated  Scotch  troopers. 

The  other  chieftains,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Rory  Maguire, 
withdrew  to  their  quarters  in  displeasure,  and  even  Mistress 
Hovenden,  albeit  that  she  rejoiced  to  know  her  son  innocent  of 
Lord  Caulfield’s  murder,  refused  to  partake  of  any  refreshment 
at  his  hands,  and  left  the  camp  immediately.  As  for  Shamus,  he 
hardly  knew,  he  said,  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry,  for,  after  the 
way  in  which  poor  Phadrig  acted,,  he  would  as  soon  have  died 
himself  in  a manner,  as  see  him  die — to  be  sure,  whatever  Sir 
Phelim  did  was  right,  but  somehow  he  could  not  help  thinking 
that  the  black  looks  and  lowering  brows  of  the  clansmen  were 
not  without  good  cause,  considering  that  the  unlucky  old  Sas- 
senach had  brought  his  death  on  himself  if  ever  man  did. 

* It  is  said,  in  justification  of  Sir  Phelim,  that,  on  hearing  of  Lord 
Caulfield’s  murder,  he  caused  six  of  his  men  to  be  put  to  death  in 
punishment  of  that  crime. 

8a 


170 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

“Experience,  wounded,  is  tlie  school 
Where  men  learn  piercing  wisdom.” 

Lord  Brook. 

M Those  that  fly  may  fight  again, 

Which  he  can  never  do  that’s  slain ; 

Hence,  timely  running’s  no  mean  part 
Of  conduct  in  th-e  martial  art.” 

Butler’s  Hudibras. 

The  last  days  of  November  had  come  on,  and,  although  the 
insurgent  forces  had,  as  I have  shown,  overrun  nearly  all  Ulster, 
with  some  counties  of  Leinster  and  Connaught — for  great  part 
of  Sligo  had  recently  followed  the  example  of  Leitrim — still, 
strange  to  say,  they  had  never  yet  encountered  the  enemy  in 
open  field.  For  so  far,  they  had  it  all  their  own  way,  as  one 
might  say,  the  few  troops  who  were  at  the  government’s  disposal 
being  kept  so  selfishly  and  at  the  same  time  so  imprudently 
within  the  limits  of  the  capital.  Owing  to  the  unaccountable 
supineness  of  the  Lords  Justices,  Ormond’s  military  talents  were 
comparatively  useless,  for,  under  one  pretence  or  another,  he 
was  kept  inactive  in  Dublin,  waiting  for  forces  which  were  not 
forthcoming,  his  proud  spirit  chafed  and  mortified  by  the  power- 
less condition  to  which  he  wras  reduced,  and  the  little  regard 
paid  to  his  proposals,  which,  had  they  been  acted  upon,  wrould 
speedily  have  arrested  the  progress  of  the  rebellion.  To  crown 
his  mortification,  he  saw  Sir  Charles  Coote  entrusted  with  what- 
ever operations  were  carried  on,  and  empowered  to  levy  forces 
almost  at  discretion,  while  he,  with  his  consciousness  of  superior 
ability,  possessing,  too,  the  confidence  of  his  sovereign,  and  vested 
in  some  degree  with  his  authority,  was  yet,  through  the  narrow 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


171 


jealousy  and  suspicious  bigotry  of  the  Lords  Justices  and  their 
party  in  the  Council,  compelled  to  a most  disgraceful  inactivity. 

Much  was  expected  by  Ormond  and  what  might  be  called  the 
royalist  party  in  the  Couneil  from  the  opening  of  Parliament, 
which,  adjourned  in  the  previous  August,  was  to  meet  in  this 
month  of  November.  But,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  all,  ex- 
cept those  who  were  in  the  confidence  of  Parsons  and  his  col- 
leagues, a few  days  before  that  fixed  on  for  the  opening  of  Par- 
liament, a proclamation  was  issued  declaring  it  prorogued  till 
the  following  February.  This  arbitrary  and  most  insane  step 
excited  such  a storm  of  indignation  and  drew  forth  such  angry 
remonstrances  from  almost  all  parties,  that  the  Lords  Justices 
agreed  to  have  the  Parliament  sit  for  one  day,  provided  the  two 
estates  would  unite  in  a strong  protestation  against  the  rebels. 
This  was  agreed  to,  and  the  Parliament  assembled,  as  was  its 
wont,  within  the  walls  of  the  Castle,  guarded  by  the  whole  avail- 
able force  of  the  government,  and  further  secured  from  unwel- 
come intrusion  by  the  exclusion,  by  proclamation,  of  all  strangers 
from  the  city. 

The  Lords  and  Commons  after  much  deliberation  agreed  on  a 
form  of  protest  which,  though  not  at  all  strong  enough  for  the  liking 
of  the  Executive,  was  gladly  received  and  industriously  scattered 
throughout  the  country.  A parliamentary  commission,  consisting 
of  nine  lords  and  twelve  commoners,  was  then  appointed  to  treat 
with  the  rebels  about  laying  down  their  arms,  and  this  done,  the 
assembly  was  prorogued  in  the  most  arbitrary  and  tyrannical 
manner  possible  by  Parsons  himself,  notwithstanding  that  a nu- 
merous deputation  from  each  of  the  two  houses  was  sent  to  him 
to  request  that  the  session  might  continue  si  little  longer  that 
measures  might  be  taken  to  suppress  the  rebellion.  This  was 
peremptorily  refused,  and  the  Parliament  was  forced  to  dissolve 
at  the  very  moment  when  its  deliberations  were  most  necessary 
for  the  country,  and  its  counsel  and  direction  most  required  by 
the  bulk  of  the  people. 

Meanwhile  the  Lords  of  the  Pale  were  in  no  enviable  position. 
Keeping  entirely  aloof  from  the  rebels,  and  taking  all  possible 
care  to  avoid  anything  that  might  appear  like  sympathy  with 
them  or  their  cause,  they  did  all  that  in  them  lay  to  attach  them- 


172 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


selves  to  the  government  party,  and  to  obtain  even  a share  of 
government  confidence.  Their  application  for  arms  on  loyal  pre- 
tences was,  as  we  have  seen,  successful,  but  only  in  a very  mo- 
derate degree,  for  the  five  hundred  stand  of  arms  granted  to 
them  was  not  more  than  sufficient  for  the  defence  of  a single 
county,  much  less  the  five  inclosed  within  the  Pale.  A short  way 
would  it  have  gone  against  the  pikes  and  muskets  and  hatchets 
of  the  northern  clans,  as  the  Norman  lords  bitterly  said  amongst 
themselves. 

Small,  however,  as  the  supply  was,  it  was  rather  encouraging 
to  the  Palesmen,  as  showing  a certain  amount  of  confidence  on 
the  part  of  the  Executive,  and  Lord  Gormanstown,  to  whom  the 
arms  were  sent,  lost  no  time  in  distributing  them  as  far  as  they 
went,  amongst  the  border  castles  of  the  Pale.  It  is  probable  that 
the  exaggerated  reports  concerning  these  military  stores  would 
only  have  excited  the  Ulster  chiefs  to  attack  those  castles  all  the 
sooner  with  a view  to  obtain,  if  possible,  what  they  stood  most 
in  need  of,  but  almost  before  the  news  had  time  to  reach  them, 
a peremptory  order  was  sent  to  Lord'  Gormanstown  from  the 
Castle  to  send  back  the  arms  without  delay.  Great  was  his  lord- 
ship’s discomfiture  and  bitter  his  mortification,  for,  of  course,  he 
and  his  friends  had  been  making  a great  parade  of  the  trust  re- 
posed in  them  by  the  powers  that  were.  But  even  this  new  in- 
sult they  were  forced  to  pocket,  and  the  arms  were  duly  returned 
to  the  arsenal  in  Dublin  to  the  no  small  amusement  of  Lord 
Ormond  and  men  of  his  stamp,  amongst  whom  it  was  jocularly 
remarked  that  the  arms  aforesaid  having  been  for  days  in  Popish 
hands  must  needs  undergo  some  process  of  purification  ere  they 
were  given  for  use  to  godly  Protestants. 

Certain  of  the  lords  thus  insulted  repaired  forthwith  to  Dublin 
to  offer  their  humble  remonstrances  to  the  Lords  Justices,  but, 
even  there  they  found  a trifling  difficulty  in  the  way,  for,  on 
reaching  the  metropolis,  they  were  denied  admission,  the  gates 
being  closed,  they  were  told,  against  all  persons  residing  at  a 
certain  distance  from  the  city.  But  they  went  on  business  of 
importance  to  the  government.  It  mattered  not,  the  orders  were 
peremptory.  So  the  magnates  of  the  Pale,  the  ultra-loyal  sup- 
porters of  Parson’s  government,  and  the  determined  foes  of  all 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


173 


rebellion — right  or  wrong — were  under  the  painful  necessity  of 
turning  their  backs  on  the  viceregal  city  in  which  all  their  hopes 
were  centred.  Like  the  false  knight  in  the  old  roundelay 

“ They  love  and  they  ride  away,” 

ride  away  from  government  patronage  and  all  its  soothing  hopes 
and  prospects,  which,  to  such  very  loyal  gentlemep,  was  a sore 
affliction.  Blank  was  the  comely  oval  face  of  Gormanstown,  as  he 
turned  his  horse’s  head  for  home,  and  Dunsany’s  thin,  sharp  fea  tures 
grew  wofully  wan,  whilst  Netlerville,  who  was  also  of  the  party, 
was  half  inclined  to  laugh  at  a rebuff  which,  of  all  the  Norman 
lords,  he  regretted  the  least,  for  reasons  known  unto  himself. 

“ It  passes  belief,”  said  Lord  Gormanstown,  “ that  any  admin- 
istration should  so  goad  men  on  to  rebellion ” 

“ So  far  does  it  outstrip  credibility,”  put  in  Dunsany,  “ that  I 
will  never  believe  this  rejection  of  our  services  to  proceed  from 
the  Lords  Justices  or  the  Council,  unless  I have  it  from  Parsons 
himself,  or  some  other  member  of  the  government.  Why,  the 
thing  is  wholly  impossible  when  we  bethink  us  of  the  favor  where- 
with the  first  tender  of  our  services  was  received ” 

“ I think  as  you  do,  my  Lord  Dunsany,”  said  Gormanstown 
gravely,  “ and  we  will  not  give  up  our  hopes  of  being  rightly 
understood  without  another  trial.  What  say  your  lordships  to 
our  meeting — I mean  the  chief  men  of  the  Pale — at  Killeen  Castle, 
as  the  more  central,  three  days  hence,  and  then  after  holding 
counsel  together,  to  name  one  or  two  of  our  number  to  repair  to 
Dublin  and  there  assure  the  Lords  Justices  in  a still  more  solemn 
manner  than  heretofore  of  our  entire  devotion  to  the  royal  cause, 
and  our  anxious  desire  to  be  employed  in  any  way  their  lord- 
ships  may  deem  fitting  for  the  suppression  of  this  dangerous 
rebellion 

Dunsany  eagerly  caught  this  new  idea,  and  although  Netter- 
ville  was  clearly  of  opinion  that  sufficient  pains  had  been  already 
taken  to  demonstrate  their  loyalty,  he  agreed  to  be  present  at 
the  meeting,  and  to  advertise  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  his 
vicinity  where  and  when  it  was  to  be. 

So  the  over-loyal  magnates  of  the  Pale  met  at  Killeen  Castle, 


174 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


enjoyed  Lord  Fingal’s  princely  hospitality,  railed  at  the  hot-headed 
folly  or  the  “ mere  Irish,”  and  appointed  Lord  Dunsany  to  convey 
their  loyal  and  fhost  submissive  sentiments  to  their  mightinesses  of 
the  Castle,  with  their  humble  prayer  to  be  allowed  to  serve  the 
state  and  defend  their  own  possessions  at  the  same  time  against 
the  savage  hordes  who  were  already  encroaching  on  their  domains. 

Much  was  expected  from  this  embassy  of  Dunsany,  who,  well 
pleased  with  the  office,  set  out  in  high  spirits  for  Dublin,  ponder- 
ing, doubtless,  as  he  went  on  the  perspective  advantages  likely 
to  accrue  to  himself  and  his  brethren  of  the  Pale.  But  Patrick 
Plunket,  like  many  another  very  sagacious  individual  of  his 
stamp,  reckoned  without  his  host,  and  so  did  those  who  sent  him. 
It  was  long  ere  they  saw  his  face  again — some  of  them  never  on 
earth — and  the  gracious  reply  and  warm  commendation  of  their 
good  dispositions,  which  they  fully  expected  him  to  bear  back, 
never  reached  their  longing  ears,  for  Sir  William  Parsons,  having 
heard  what  Dunsany  had  to  say,  was  so  charmed  by  that  noble- 
man’s loyal  sentiments  and  so  grateful  for  the  same,  that  he  must 
needs  treat  him  hospitably,  and  with  that  laudable  intention, 
doubtless,  sent  him  to  share  the  imprisonment  of  the  northern 
chiefs  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Castle.* 

Alas  ! for  the  would-be  loyal  Catholics  of  the  Pale  when 
these  tidings  reached  them ! bow  blanched  their  cheeks,  how 
ghastly  the  look  which  they  turned  one  on  the  other,  and  ho'w 
hollow  the  voice  in  which  each  made  his  brief  comment  on  the 
strange  announcement. 

“ Dunsany  in  prison!”  cried  Fingal. 

“ The  loyalest  noble  of  the  Pale !”  echoed  Gormanstown. 

“ Parsons  must  be  mad  !”  said  the  courtly  Louth. 

“ There  be  more  than  Parsons  so,”  quoth  Netterville  bluntly; 
“ methinks  all  Ireland  will  set  us  down  as  crazy-pates,  and,  by 
mine  honor,  not  without  good  reason  !” 

“ Who  knows,”  said  a stout  elderly  gentleman  of  martial  as- 
pect, “ but  they  may  send  Sir  Charles  Coote  amongst  us  some 

* Burke,  in  his  British  and  Irish  Peerage,  says  that  this  imprison- 
ment of  Lord  Dunsany  lasted  for  several  years — in  fact,  till  after  the 
Restoration.  So  much  for  the  gratitude  and  honor  of  Parsons. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


175 


of  these  days — an’  they  do,  the  Tyrone  man’s  countenance  and 
succor  were  worth  having — there  be  no  man  on  Irish  ground  to 
meet  Coote  in  due  form  save  O’Neill!” 

“O’Neill  is  no  general,”  said  Lord  Slaney  in  a contemptuous 
tone;  “ if  he  wins  it  is  by  good  luck  and  brute  force,  not  by  skill 
or  prudence.” 

“ Ay,  but  there  be  others  of  the  northern  chiefs  more  skilled 
in  warcraft  than  he,”  observed  Lord  Netterville,  “and  there  is 
Roger  0’ Moore,  with  whose  prudence  and  sagacity,  not  to  speak 
of  other  rare  qualities,  we  are  all  well  acquainted.” 

“ Surely  yes,”  said  Lord  Trimbleston,  who  had  not  yet  spoken ; 
“ Roger  O’Moore  is  well  fitted  for  courtly  diplomacy — no  man 
more  wise  or  discreet,  or  of  more  winning  tongue  than  he,  but  I 
have  no  faith  in  his  military  skill— an’  it  come  to  a trial  of 
strength,  as  it  soon  will,  no  doubt,  there  be  no  man  as  yet , 
amongst  the  insurgent  leaders,  able  to  cope  for  one  hour  with 
Ormond,  or  even  with  .Coote — brave  men  and  gallant  chieftains 
they  have — I deny  it  not — such  as  O’Rourke,  O’Reilly,  and 
McMahon — men  who  would  do  honor  to  any  cause,  but  they 
have  not  that  knowledge  or  experience  in  the  art  of  war  which 
■might  give  them  a chance  of  success.” 

“ By  my  faith,  Trimbleston,”  said  Louth  with  a significant 
smde,  “ your  speech  savors  of  more  interest  in  their  affairs  than 

becometh  a loyal  gentleman ” 

“Loyal!”  repeated  Trimbleston  with  emphasis,  “I  know  not 
but  these  gallant  chieftains  of  the  old  stock  who  have  boldly 
taken  up  arms  for  country  and  religion  be  the  loyal  men  rather 
than  we — excuse  me,  lords  and  gentlemen — who  have  been  of- 
fering incense  to  bigotry  and  injustice — before  God  this  day,  I 
shame  to  think  of  how  we  have  humbled  ourselves  before  these 
upstart  Puritans,  the  bitter  enemies  of  our  faith  and  all  who 
profess  it !” 

Lord  Trimbleston  rose  as  he  spoke  these  words  with  honest 
warmth,  and  many  a pale  cheek  amongst  his  hearers  waxed  red 
with  the  glow  of  a new-born  spirit,  and  many  a knightly  gentle- 
man laid  his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt  as  he  joined  in  the  shout  of 
applause  which  greeted  the  Baron’s  short  but  significant  address. 
Still,  there  was  amongst  the  Palesmen  there  assembled  too  much 


176 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  the  time-serving  and  timorous  spirit  which  had  of  late  charac- 
terized the  degenerate  sons  of  the  Norman  knights  of  old  for 
any  genuine  act  of  patriotism  to  he  elicited  from  their  worldly 
and  over-cautious  minds — all  the  experience  of  the  past  months 
was  not  sufficient,  it  would  seem,  to  show  them  that  their  duty  and 
their  true  interest  pointed  in  the  same  direction.  They  had  ever 
regarded  the  native  Irish  with  contempt,  as  a race  wholly  inferior, 
and  only  fit  for  that  serfdom  which  their  fathers  imposed  on  the 
conquered  Saxons  of  England,  and  in  viewing  them  still  in  that 
light  they  could  not  or  would  not  make  common  cause  with  them, 
until  every  vestige  of  hope  was  taken  from  them  by  the  acts  of 
that  government  to  which  they  clung  with  the  blindest  infatuation. 

Meanwhile,  the  Ulster  forces,  unwilling  longer  to  be  cooped 
up  within  their  own  limits  when  so  much  was  to  be  done  in  the 
other  provinces,  began  to  penetrate  in  large  bodies  into  the  ad- 
joining counties  of  the  Pale.  Crossing  the  borders  with  banners 
flying,  they  attacked  and  took  several  strong  Castles  ; at  length 
growing  bolder  from  success,  the  O’Reillys  and  McMahons  laid 
siege  to  the  house  of  Lord  Moore  at  Mellifont,  within  a few  miles 
of  Drogheda,  and  succeeded  in  taking  it  by  storm,  to  the  ex- 
treme mortification  of  its  noble  owner,  who  was  justly  considered 
as  one  of  the  best  officers  in  the  government  service.  With  his 
family,  however,  he  retreated  to  Drogheda,  leaving  his  lordly 
manor  in  the  hands  of  the  Catholics,  and  what  was  far  more  of 
triumph  to  them  the  sacred  vale  of  Mellifont,  at  whose  ruined 
and  desecrated  shrines  the  chieftains  knelt  with  swelling  hearts 
to  give  thanks  for  their  success,  and  invoke  the  blessing  of  God 
and  His  saints  on  their  future  efforts  to  redeem  His  suffering 
people.  AVhere  the  ill-starred  Dervorgil  wept  and  prayed  of  old 
in  penitential  mood,  the  brave  defenders  of  their  country  and 
their  creed,  catching  fresh  enthusiasm  from  the  mournful  yet 
hallowed  scene,  vowed  to  do  yet  greater  things  for  the  holy  cause 
to  which  their  lives  were  pledged,  nor  sheath  their  swords  till 
freedom  and  justice  were  established  in  the  land  on  a firm  basis. 

So  long  as  the  native  chieftains  kept  within  the  bounds  of  the 
northern  province,  the  government  were  clearly  well  content  to 
let  them  work  their  will  on  the  king’s  lieges,  godly  and  ungodly, 
as  the  case  might  be,  but  when  once  they  crossed  the  marches 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


177 


and  began  to  clear  the  bawns  of  the  Pale  of  the  fat  beeves  which 
were  wont  to  supply  magnificent  sirloins  for  Dublin  boards,  and 
still  worse,  when  their  rebellious  flags  began  to  appear  on  castle- 
keeps  within  a score  of  miles  of  the  metropolis,  as  in  the  case  of 
Mellifont,  then,  indeed,  it  was  time  to  bestir  themselves,  or  there 
was  no  knowing  how  soon  the  very  gates  of  Dublin  might  creak 
and  shiver  beneath  their  ponderous  axes.  Word  was  even  brought 
them  at  the  council-board  that  the  rebels  meditated  a speedy  at- 
tack on  Drogheda,  headed  by  Sir  Phelim  himself  with  the  chosen 
men  of  his  army. 

Immediately  a commission  was  issued  to  raise  four  regiments 
in  the  vicinity  of  Dublin,  and  with  one  of  these,  a thousand 
strong,  and  a goodly  troop  of  horse,  Sir  Charles  Coote  was  sent 
to  scour  the  counties  of  Meath  and  Louth  and  drive  the  rebels 
back  into  Ulster,  giving  no  quarter  to  such  as  fell  into  his  hands. 

The  latter  part  of  the  instructions  Coote  heard  with  a sardonic 
smile,  believing  the  order  somewhat  superfluous  in  his  case. 

A strong  reinforcement  was,  at  the  same  time,  sent  to  Drogheda 
under  the  command  of  Sir  Patrick  Wemyss.  These  troops,  on  the 
eve  of  their  departure,  were  reviewed  by  Lord  Ormond,  who 
pronounced  them  hardly  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  but  the  Lords 
Justices  would  not  consent  to  any  further  reduction  of  the  me- 
tropolitan forces,  and  Sir  Patrick  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  set 
his  column  in  motion,  while  the  Earl  bowed  with  lofty  grace  and 
a smile  of  forced  acquiescence. 

Wemyss  and  his  men  were  alike  disheartened  by  the  Earl’s 
opinion  of  their  insufficiency  in  point  of  numbers,  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  the  day  was  dull  and  misty,  threatening  rain. 
More  experienced  soldiers  would  have  probably  exulted  in  the 
prospect  of  meeting  a superior  force  of  the  wild  Irish  in  hopes 
of  signalizing  their  powers,  but  Sir  Patrick’s  command  was  com- 
posed entirely  of  raw  recruits  from  the  new  levies ; men,  for  the 
most  part,  to  whom  the  smell  of  powder  was  less  trying  than  the 
glitter  of  an  Irish  skene.  On  they  marched,  however,  with  as 
great  show  of  military  ardor  as  though  their  valor  had  stood  the 
test  of  an  hundred  fields.  The  level  plains  of  Dublin  were  soon 
passed,  and  many  a mile  of  the  rich  lands  of  Louth,  and  already 
the  confidence  of  the  Palesmen  began  to  revive  \vhen  Balbriggan 
8* 


178 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  Balruddery  were  left  far  behind,  and  they  found  themselves 
nearing  the  place  of  their  destination.  The  picturesque,  heights 
on  the  Nanny- water  were  already  in  sight,  or  ought  to  be — for 
the  cold,  thick  mist  rested  cheerlessly  on  every  object — when 
a horse  was  heard  approaching  at  full  gallop  across  the  fields, 
and,  Sir  Patrick  sending  a scout  or  two  to  reconnoitre,  they  re- 
turned with  a courier  sent  by  Lord  Gormanstown  to  apprise  the 
officer  in  command  that  a strong  detachment  of  the  Irish  army 
was  stationed  at  Julians-town  bridge,  only  a little  farther  on, 
awaiting  their  approach. 

At  this  confirmation  of  their  worst  fears,  the  men  were  at  first 
seized  with  trepidation,  and  were  more  disposed  to  retreat  than 
to  go  forward,  but  Sir  Patrick,  himself  a brave  soldier,  repre- 
senting to  them  in  brief  but  stirring  terms  the  disgrace  which 
was  sure  to  follow  such  a step,  and,  moreover,  the  heavy  punish- 
ment which  they  might  expect,  the  column  again  turned  its  head 
towards  Drogheda  and  marched  steadily  down  the  gentle  slope 
leading  to  the  bridge.  It  was  little  wonder  if  the  stoutest  heart 
there  beat  more  quickly,  and  the  bravest  held  his  breath,  for 
they  knew  not  but  death  awaited  them  all  in  the  misty  depth  of 
the  valley.  Urged  on,  however,  by  their  gallant  leader,  they 
gained  the  bridge,  crossed  it,  and  marched  in  good  order  up  the 
opposite  acclivity  without  any  other  obstacle  opposing  their  way 
than  the  mizzling  rain  which  now  began  to  beat  in  their  faces. 

Elated  by  this  agreeable  disappointment,  the  men  were  with 
difficulty  kept  from  expressing  their  joy  in  a loud  “hurrah,”  but 
they  said  one  to  another  with  bounding  hearts  and  gleeful  eyes  : 
“Now  for  Drogheda — the  cowardly  rebels  will  scarce  venture  so 
near  the  guns  of  Millmount <” 

But  their  commander  was  far  from  sharing  their  confidence, 
and  as  he  rode  on  at  the  head  of  his  column,  his  face  had  a stern 
and  determined  look,  his  keen  gray  eyes  piercing  the  mist  in  all 
directions  as  though  seeking  some  expected  object.  Without  no- 
ticing his  ominous  silence,  his  men  kept  laughing  and  talking 
amongst  themselves,  in  anticipation  of  the  guardroom  fire  and  the 
foaming  tankard,  when,  just  about  a quarter  of  a mile  beyond  the 
bridge,  they  were  struck  dumb  by  the  fierce  clan-shouts  of  an 
Irish  host,  as  it  seemed  to  them,  and  the  equally  terrific  sound  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


179 


pipe  and  war-trump  striking  up  a martial  strain.  At  the  same 
moment,  the  rain  ceased,  and  the  mist  clearing  partially  away, 
disclosed  to  the  affrighted  soldiers  of  the  Pale  what  appeared 
to  them  a whole  army  of  the  enemy,  the  foot  drawn  up  in  five 
battalions,  flanked  on  either  side  by  a troop  of  horse. 

Immediately  the  English  bugles  sounded  a charge,  and  VVemyss 
and  his  officers  tried  hard  to  get  their  men  in  order  of  battle. 
Just,  however,  wfien  they  seemed  to  have  succeeded,  another 
shout  from  the  Irish  ranks,  and  a slight  forward  movement,  struck 
new  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  amateur  soldiers,  and  with  scarcely 
a glance  at  the  formidable  array  before  them,  they  fairly  turned 
their  backs  and  fled,  notwithstanding  that  their  commander  and 
others  of  his  subordinates  threw  themselves  from  their  horses  and 
did  what  men  could  to  bar  their  retreat.  Maddened  by  the  yells 
of  derisive  laughter  from  behind,  and  yet  not  daring  to  turn  on 
the  fierce  foe  whom  they  fancied  in  full  pursuit,  the  Dublin  men 
rushed  with  headlong  speed  towards  the  bridge,  little  recking 
that  they  turned  their  backs  on  Drogheda  and  left  its  garrison 
to  their  fate. 

Well  for  them  that  the  mist  closed  in  behind  them  thick  and 
heavy,  so  as  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  pursuit — else  had  they 
never  reached  Dublin  with  the  news  of  their  own  disgrace.  As 
it  was  they  effected  their  retreat  without  any  loss,  leaving  the 
enemy  a bloodless  victory,  and  what  they  well  loved,  a standing 
joke  in  relation  to  “ the  battle  of  Julians-town.” 

They  had  reached  Swords  on  their  way  back  when,  cowering 
in  the  shade  of  the  old  round  tower,  with  a view  to  protect  him- 
self from  the  now  pelting  rain,  they  found  an  individual  mounted 
on  a shaggy  pony  and  enveloped  from  head  to  waist  in  the  many- 
folded  scarf  of  home-made  woollen  then  generally  worn  by  the 
lower  orders  of  the  native  Irish,  after  the  manner  of  a Highland 
plaid.  This  personage,  having  his  back  turned  towards  them, 
was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  approach  of  the  soldiers  till  a 
loud  halloo,  coupled  with  the  epithet  of  “Irish  dog,”  made  him 
turn  his  head  just  as  a heavy  grasp  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 
The  ludicrous  mixture  of  >surpris9  and  terror  depicted  on  his 
lank  features  made  the  Palesmen  laugh  heartily,  and  well  it  was 


180 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


for  him  that  he  presented  so  woe-begone  a spectacle  as  to  move 
even  the  mortified  and  crest-fallen  Wemyss  to  mirth. 

“ What  do  you  here,  you  pitiful  d 1 1”  said  the  sergeant 

whose  clutch  was  on  his  shoulders;  “ be  you  a spy  or  what'?” 

“Dominus  Vobiscum”  was  the  reply,— “no,  no,  God  forgive 
me  for  saying  the  like  to — to — ahem ! I’m  no  spy,  an’  it  please 
you,  sir ! — I’d  scorn  the  like.” 

“ Where  do  you  come  from,  then,  and  who  the  foul  fiend  are 
you — quick,  for  we  cannot  stand  here  in  the  rain  waiting  on 
such  a scarecrow !”  This  was  from  one  of  the  officers. 

“ I come  from  McMahon’s  country,  and  if  you’re  curious  to 
know  my  name  I’ll  tell  you,  and  \yelcome — my  name  is  Malachy 
McMahon.  There’s  another  name  they  give  me  at  home,  but 
that’s  the  right  one.” 

“ McMahon’s  country  !”  repeated  Wemyss,  “ why  the  man’s  a 
fool — what  brought  you  here  all  alone  if  that  be  your  dwelling- 
place  1 Answer  me,  fellow  1” 

“Well,  it’s  a little  business  I had  in  Dublin,”  said  Malachy, 
“ if  I could  get  there— but  dear  knows  when  that  will  be,  except 
your  worship  or  some  of  these  good-looking  sassum  dergs  would 
be  pleased  to  direct  me,  for  I’m  wandering  like  a ghost  hither  and 
thither  in  search  of  it,  and  never  seems  to  be  coming  any  nearer ! 
There’s  a great  man  there  that  I’d  wish  to  have  a word  with.” 

“ And  who  may  the  great  man  be,  you  numscull  1” 

The  first  name  that  occurred  to  Malachy  was  that  of  Ormond, 
but  luckily  for  himself,  and  perhaps  for  the  Earl,  too,  he  cun- 
ningly changed  his  mind ; “ I don’t  know  if  you  know  him,”  said 
the  keen  Monaghan  man  with  a look  of  great  simplicity  ; “ but 
anyhow  his  name  is  Sir  William  Parsons,  a very  fine  gentleman 
and  a great  lord  besides,  at  least  people  say  so,  down  where  I 
come  from !” 

Many  of  the  soldiers  laughed  outright,  but  not  so  Sir  Patrick 
Wemyss. 

“ Why  not  tell  us  at  first  that  your  business  was  with  him  1” 
he  said  shortly. 

“ Well,  because  you  didn’t  ask  me  the  question !” 

“Take  him  along!”  cried  Wemyss,  “and  march!”  an  order 
which  was  promptly  obeyed,  for  the  men  were  on  thorns  while 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


181 


they  stood,  and  had  they  dared  would  have  made  short  work  of 
the  “ d d Irish  fool,”  as  they  very  erroneously  styled  Malachy. 

“ Take  me  along !”  echoed  McMahon,  “ why,  it  isn’t  a prisoner 
I’d  heT’ 

“ You  want  to  have  speech  of  Sir  William  Parsons,”  said 
Wemyss  sternly ; “no  more  talk,  but  come  with  us  !” 

It  would  have  fared  harder  with  poor  Malachy  had  not  Sir 
Patrick  set  him  down  in  his  own  mind  as  an  informer,  a class  of 
persons  then  largely  employed  and  liberally  encouraged  by  the 
government. 

In  such  company  and  under  such  circumstances  it  was  that  our 
friend  from  Uriel  made  his  entry  into  Dublin,  but  he  knew  Par- 
sons too  well  by  reputation  to  let  the  joke  go  so  far  as  appearing 
in  his  presence.  Passing  under  the  gloomy  arch  of  one  of  the 
city  gates,  he  contrived  to  detach  himself  from  the  soldiers  who, 
confused  and  ashamed  of  their  ignoble  conduct,  had  little  atten- 
tion to  bestow  on  him.  Even  Wemyss  thought  no  more  of  him 
till  he  was  about  to  appear  himself  before  the  Lords  Justices  to 
give  an  account  of  his  unlucky  expedition.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
say  that  the  man  from  McMahon’s  country  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  Sir  Patrick  finding  himself  thus  duped,  looked  blank 
enough,  but  he  little  thought  how  often  Malachy  na  Soggarth 
made  merry  amongst  the  clansmen  of  Uriel  over  the  trick  he 
played  on  the  Sassenach  chief,  whom  he  got  so  cunningly  “ to 
show  him  the  way  to  Dublin  !” 


182 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

“ Ah  mo ! what  perils  do  environ 
The  man  that  meddles  with  cold  iron  ! 

For  tho’  Dame  Fortune  seem  to  smilo 
And  leer  upon  him  for  awhile, 

She’ll  after  show  him,  in  the  nick 
0.  all  his  glories,  a dog- trick.” 

Butler’s  Hudibras. 


’Tis  necessity 

“ To  which  the  gods  must  yield ; and  I obey, 

Till  I redeem  it  by' some  glorious  way.” 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

But  whilst  the  Catholic  arms  were  beginning  to  command 
fear,  if  not  respect,  within  the  territory  of  the  Pale,  how  was  it 
with  Sir  Phelim  and  the  vast  multitude  who  followed  his  stand- 
ard 1 Alas ! the  flush  of  conquest  which  attended  his  first  ca- 
reer had  subsided  into  a dull,  cheerless  state  that  was  neither 
life  nor  death — it  was  partly  struggle  and  partly  the  inaction  of 
failing  hope.  The  castles  he  had  won  were  for  the  most  part 
still  in  the  hands  of  his  friends,  so,  too,  were  the  smaller  and  less 
important  towns,  but  some  of  the  principal  forts  had  unhappily 
been  retaken  by  the  enemy,  and  that  through  no  want  of  bravery 
or  perseverance  on  the  part  of  the  Irish,  but  because  leaders  of 
greater  skill  than  any  they  then  had  to  boast  of  were  sent  from 
Carrickfergus  and  other  places  against  them  with  artillery  and 
other  war  equipage  of  which  they  were  wholly  destitute.  Even 
powder  and  other  ammunition  would  have  long  since  failed  them 
had  it  not  been  for  the  supplies  which  they  succeeded  in  wrest- 
ing from  the  enemy.  Now  when  the  remaining  fortresses  were 
too  well  garrisoned  and  supplied  with  military  stores,  and  tho 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


183 


Scotch  forces  increased  by  a strong  reinforcement  under  Lord 
Leven  were  scattered  in  large  bodies  over  northern  Ulster,  there 
was  little  chance  of  continued  success  for  an  inexperienced  ge- 
neral like  Sir  Phelim,  with  a raw,  undisciplined  host,  badly  armed 
and  badly  accoutred  in  every  way.*  In  fact,  when  the  first  en- 
thusiasm began  to  die  for  lack  of  any  substantial  encouragement, 
and  obstacles,  not  at  first  foreseen,  began  to  arise  and  went  on 
increasing  in  magnitude  from  day  to  day,  the  very  numbers  of 
Sir  Phelim’s  forces  became  an  incumbrance  of  which  he  knew 
not  well  how  to  dispose,  for  with  abundance  of  animal  courage 
and  the  most  sincere  devotion  to  the  cause,  he  was  unhappily 
wanting  in  those  other  qualities  which  constitute  an  able  general. 
He  was,  moreover,  too  much  under  the  control  of  passion  to  ac- 
quire much  influence  over  others,  or  command  that  respect  to 
which  his  position  entitled  him.  Many  of  his  associates  in  com- 
mand were  repelled  by  his  harsh,  overbearing  demeanor,  and 
mortified  by  seeing  the  boyish  gusts  of  passion  to  which,  on  the 
slightest  provocation,  he  gave  way.  With  heavy  hearts  they  ac- 
knowledged to  each  other  that  with  such  a leader  there  was  little 
prospect  of  success,  especially  as  no  succor  was  coming  from 
abroad,  and  no  solid  or  lasting  advantage  had  been  gained  at 
home  after  the  first  weeks  of  the  rebellion. 

Newry,  so  early  taken  by  the  impetuous  valor  of  Magennis, 
was  retaken  by  Scotch  troops  under  Lord  Conway,  after  being 
'but  a few  weeks  in  possession  of  the  Irish.  Other  cities  which 
yet  remained  in  their  hands  were  expected  to  share  the  same  fate 
as  soon  as  a reasonable  force  presented  itself  with  proper  provi- 
sion for  a siege. 

Yet  still  Sir  Phelim  fought  on,  wherever  fighting  was  to  be 
done,  his  temper,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  no  way  improved 
by  the  discouraging  aspect  of  his  present  affairs,  but  his  courage 
and  activity,  if  possible,  increased  by  the  reverses  he  had  lately 
encountered.  The  clouds  were  gathering  darkly  around  him, 

* Lord  Ormond,  writing  to  the  King  about  thi3  time,  makes  the  fol- 
lowing remarks:  “The  rebels  are  in  great  numbers,  for  the  most  part 
very  meanly  armed  with  such  weapons  as  would  rather  show  them  to 
be  a tumultuary  rabble  than  anything  like  an  army.”  See  Carte’s 
Ormond. 


184 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  no  gleam  of  hope  illumined  his  soul — no  aid  came  from 
abroad,  no  sign  of  life  amongst  the  noble  or  wealthy  of  the  land 
at  home,  yet  stout  Sir  Phelim  was  undismayed,  and  bravely 
holding  his  head  above  the  surging  waves,  resolved  by  a bold 
effort  to  recover  the  ground  he  had  lost,  and  with  it  the  prestige 
of  success  so  necessary  to  revive  the  drooping  spirits  of  his 
followers. 

“ We  will  march  eastward  and  besiege  Drogheda,”  said  Sir 
Phelim  to  his  friend  Magennis,  as  they  strode  to  and  fro  together 
in  the  winter  twilight  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  camp.  “ We 
must  do  something,  Con, — it  may  go  hard  with  us,  an’  we  rest 
longer  on  our  oars.” 

The  gallant  chieftain  of  Iveagh  was  never  the  man  to  throw 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  a bold  attempt  promising  any  degree  or 
chance  of  success,  and,  moreover,  he  had  been  for  several  days 
urging  upon  his  impracticable  leader  the  necessity  of  pushing 
the  war  beyond  their  own  borders.  He  was,  therefore,  well 
pleased  with  this  proposal,  the  full  merit  of  which,  however,  he 
was  content  to  leave  with  Sir  Phelim  as  a healing  unction  for 
his  wounded  vanity.  A council  of  the  principal  officers  was  im- 
mediately summoned,  and  the  siege  of  Drogheda  being  proposed, 
met  with  their  entire  approbation.  As  “ the  key  of  the  north,” 
and  commanding  the  Boyne,  the  old  town  was,  in  itself,  valuable  as 
a military  port,  and  as  being  directly  on  the  road  to  Dublin,  and 
within  less  than  half  a day’s  march  of  the  capital,  it  became  of 
the  last  importance  to  secure  it. 

The  success  at  Julians  town  and  the  capture  of  Lord  Moore’s  house 
at  Mellifont — both  localities  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
Drogheda — had  contributed  to  inspire  Sir  Phelim  with  what  seem- 
ed otherwise  an  over-bold  design,  considering  the  pusillanimous 
neutrality,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  observed  by  the  Lords  of  the  Pale. 
The  country  around  Drogheda  was  all  in  their  hands — there  was 
no  reason  to  hope  for  sympathy,  much  less  actual  assistance  from 
them,  and,  as  the  chiefs  bitterly  said  amongst  themselves,  it  was 
a good  prospect  for  the  Catholic  army  of  Ulster  to  have  probably 
to  fight  its  way  through  the  domains  of  the  Catholic  nobles  of 
Leinster. 

It  was  hard  to  see  those  degenerate  Normans,  if  not  openly 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


185 


arrayed  against  the  defenders  of  their  faith,  at  least  disposed  to 
stand  aloof  with  folded  arms  while  the  tyrannical  power  of  the 
government  was  brought  to  hear  upon  them,  unaided  and  alone 
as  they  were  left  to  oppose  it  with  the  scanty  means  at  their 
command.  Where,  alas ! was  the  boasted  chivalry,  the  lofty 
spirit  of  the  old  Norman  knights  who  were  wont  to  style  them- 
selves the  champions  of  the  faith — they  whose  magnificent  foun- 
dations of  piety  still  covered  the  soil  of  Ireland — they  who  had 
done  such  great  things  for  the  Church  of  Ireland,  in  atonement 
for  their  oppression  and  spoliation  of  its  native  tribes  1 Had  the 
sons  of  the  Fitzgeralds,  the  Plunkets,  the  Cusacks  and  the  Dil- 
lons, the  Burkes  and  the  Butlers,  all  lapsed  from  the  faith  which 
their  fathers  loved,  and  fallen  so  low  as  to  worship  at  the  shrines 
of  Moloch  and  Mammon  with  the  other  creatures  of  the  govern- 
ment 1 There  were  moments  when  the  high-souled  Catholics  of 
Ulster  could  believe  even  that  of  them,  from  the  tales  which  con- 
stantly reached  them  concerning  their  base  truckling  to  the 
powers  that  were.  It  might  be  that  they  did  them  injustice,  but 
of  that  there  seemed  little  probability. 

It  was  just  when  the  northern  chieftains  had  given  up  all  hope 
of  any  patriotic  movement,  or  friendly  co-operation  on  the  part 
of  the  Palesmen,  that  a bleak  December  day  found  a gallant  show 
of  lords  and  gentlemen  of  high  degree  with  a numerous  train  of 
their  respective  followers  assembled  on  the  hill  of  Crofty,  in  the 
fair  county  of  Meath.  The  rounded  crest  of  the  gently-swelling 
eminence  commanded  a view  far  and  wide  over  plains  extending 
into  the  adjoining  counties  of  Louth  and  Cavan,  and  ever  as  the 
chief  men  of  this  assembly  rode  to  and  fro  on  their  elevated  plat- 
form, they  cast  many  an  anxious,  scrutinizing  glance  into  the  far 
distance  on  every  side  as  though  expectation  were  becoming  te- 
dious. The  while  they  conversed  amongst  themselves  with  the 
gravity  of  men  engaged,  or  about  to  engage,  in  some  affair  of 
great  moment.  Yet,  considering  the  troubled  aspect  of  the  times, 
the  whole  array,  although  imposing,  was  wonderfully  void  of 
martial  show.  Neither  banners  nor  music  were  there,  nor  weapon 
of  any  kind,  and  even  the  numerous  company  of  men  in  attend- 
ance were  characterized  by  the  same  staid  and  sober  gravity 
which  marked  the  demeanor  of  their  lords.  The  calm  patience, 


186 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


too,  with  which  all  waited,  hour  after  hour — whatever  their  pur- 
pose might  be — was  worthy  of  admiration,  and  sufficiently  de- 
noted, were  there  no  other  mark  of  distinction,  that  it  was  not 
the  hot  Milesian  blood  of  the  natives  which  flowed  in  their  veins. 

As  the  mid-day  hours  wore  on,  the  stillness  was  broken  from 
time  to  time  by  the  arrival  of  some  lord  or  gentleman,  with  his 
band  of  retainers,  when  a grave  salute  being  exchanged,  and 
perhaps  some  brief  inquiries  between  friends  or  acquaintance, 
the  new  comers  took  their  station  according  to  their  respective 
grades,  and  like  water  broken  by  some  falling  pebble,  the  ripple 
presently  subsided  and  all  was  still  again.  The  scene  was  im- 
pressive as  well  from  the  high  bearing  of  the  chiefs  as  the  vast 
number  and  respectable  appearance  of  their  followers. 

After  some  hours  had  thus  passed,  a stir  was  visible  amongst 
the  anxious  watchers  on  the  hill,  and  a murmur  of  “ They  come  ! 
they  come !”  was  heard  passing  through  the  crowd  below.  Pre- 
sently the  sound  of  martial  music  came  floating  on  the  breeze — 
near  and  nearer  it  came — and  more  distinct,  then  approaching 
the  hill  from  the  northward  was  seen  a gallant  band  of  soldier- 
men  arrayed  in  the  picturesque  costume  of  the  native  troops,  with 
many-colored  woollen  scarfs  of  ample  dimensions  wrapping  their 
brawny  shoulders,  their  lower  limbs  encased  in  truis  and  buskins, 
and  on  their  heads  the  graceful  hanging  cap  traditionally  deaf  to 
the  Celts  of  Ireland.  A banner  they  had,  too,  a gay,  green  banner, 
with  the  royal  sunburst  emblazoned  on  one  side  and  Ireland’s  harp 
flaunting  on  the  other.  With  a light,  quick  step  and  a buoyant 
mien  they  marched  up  the  slope,  those  bold  borderers  from  the 
Irish  country,  and  the  younger  gentlemen  on  the  hill  catching,  as 
it  were,  a gleam  of  their  bright  and  hopeful  spirit,  gave  vent  to 
sundry  exclamations  of  pleasure  and  glad  surprise  as  they  rode 
to  the  front  to  watch  the  approaching  cavalcade. 

“ By  my  faith,”  cried  Sir  John  Netterville,  for  he,  with  his 
father,  was  of  the*  expectant  party ; “ by  my  faith  and  honor, 
these  be  men  to  stand  by  one’s  side  in  tented  field — ha,  there  I 
see  my  old  friend  Roger — why,  man” — he  called  out  at  his  top- 
most voice,  as  O’Moore,  with  some  four  or  five  other  gentlemen,  all 
in  military  costume,  detached  themselves  from  their  company  and 
rode  up  the  hill— “ why,  man,  you  must  count  largely  on  our 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


187 


patience,  for  I swear  we  have  been  here— some  of  us  at  least — 
since  morning  hours.  Well  for  you  that  it  is  your  own  body  and 
bones  we  see,  or  belike  trouble  might  come  of  this  delay  !” 

O’Moore  apologized  in  his  usual  brief  yet  forcible  manner  for  a 
delay  wholly  unintentional  on  his  part  or  that  of  his  friends,  whom 
he  severally  introduced  to  the  crowd  of  Norman  lords  and  gentle- 
men as  Colonels  McMahon,  O’Byrne,  Plunket,  the  O’Reilly  of 
Breffny,  and  Captain  Fox.  These  officers,  arrayed  in  a costume 
half  Irish,  half  Spanish,  presented  a remarkable  contrast  to  the 
soberly-attired  gentlemen  of  the  Pale  in  their  black  broadcloth 
cassocks,  broadly  edged  with  plush,  and  loose,  long  riding-cloaks, 
all  of  the  same,  or  some  other  almost  equally  sombre  hue.  Their 
broad-leaved  hats,  too,  were  more  akin  to  those  worn  by  the  Puri- 
tans than  any  other  head-gear  of  that  age,  so  that,  what  with  the 
cold  reserve  of  their  manner  and  the  cheerless  character  of  their 
personal  attire,  these  proud  Normans  of  the  Pale  were  to  all  appear- 
ance the  very  opposite  of  the  gay,  light-hearted,  soldierly  men 
who  came  there  to  represent  the  native  Irish. 

On  the  part  of  the  Palesmen,  seven  of  their  chief  nobles  rode 
forward  to  treat  with  O’Moore  and  his  friends.  There  was  Gor- 
manstown  who,  as  Governor  of  the  County,  had  drawn  this  assem- 
bly together  by  his  warrant ; Fingal,  the  premier  peer  of  the 
Pales,;  Louth,  Trimbleston,  Slaney,  Netterville,  and  the  gallant 
son  of  the  latter.  There  was  one  wanting  of  the  seven  great 
lords — Plunket  of  Dunsany  was  far  away  the  tenant  of  a vault  in 
Dublin  Castle,  but  though  absent  he  was  not  forgotten,  the 
thought  of  his  wrongs,  and  the  outrage  committed  on  their  order 
in  his  person,  rankled  in  the  hearts  of  his  peers,  and  had,4  doubt- 
less, contributed  no  little  to  bring  about  that  remarkable  con- 
ference. 

When  the  parties  had  come  within  speaking  distance,  Lord 
Gormanstown,  on  a sign  from  Lord  Fingal,  moved  to  the  front,  a 
little  in  advance  of  the  others,  and  O’ Moore  instantly  following  his 
example,  the  chieftain  of  Leix  and  the  Norman  peer  were  brought 
within  a few  feet  of  each  other  in  sight  of  their  respective  friends 
and  followers.  Then  Gormanstown,  with  a grave  and  formal 
bow, — to  which  O’Moore  responded  by  raising  his  plumed  hat 


188 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


with  that  winning  grace  peculiar  to  himself, — thus  addressed  tli6 
Irish  chieftain : 

“ As  the  Custos  Rotulorum  of  this  county  of  Meath,  Mr. 
O’Moore,  I desire  to  know  wherefore  it  is  that  certain  of  your 
Irish  troops  have  of  late  trespassed  on  this  our  territory  of  the 
Pale,  which  as  loyal  subjects  we  are  bound  to  keep  and  to  hold 
intact  for  our  lord  the  king — further,  I would  know,  most  worthy 
sir,  why  you  with  your  company  appear  in  arms  at  this  present, 
I and  mine  being  here  assembled  with  peaceful  intent  and  no 
other  r 

“ As  regards  your  first  question,  my  lord  of  Gormanstown,” 
O’Moore  replied  with  dignified  composure,  “ we  would  have  it 
known  of  all  men  that  in  taking  up  arms  and  calling  on  all  true 
Catholics  to  aid  us,  we  have  but  two  undoubted  objects  in  view, 
namely,  the  defence  of  our  holy  faith,  unjustly  and  most  cruelly 
proscribed,  the  vindication  of  our  rights  as  citizens,  and  further- 
more, the  assertion  of  our  sovereign  lord  the  king  his  righteous 
prerogative,  traitorously  assailed  by  certain  of  his  rebellious 
lieges.  These,  my  lord,  be  our  ends  in  waging  this  war.” 

“ As  a Christian  and  a man  of  honor,”  said  Gormanstown  with 
impressive  earnestness,  “ I ask  you,  Mr.  Roger  O’Moore,  if  these 
be-  the  sole  ends  and  objects  which  you  have  in  view — behind 
these  are  there  no  narrower  and  more  selfish  objects,  less  worthy 
the  appeal  to  arms  1” 

“ As  God  liveth,”  said  O’Moore  solemnly,  and  he  raised  his 
right  arm  towards  heaven,  “ as  God  liveth,  my  lord,  I have 
specified  truly  unto  you  the  grounds  of  our  quarrel  with  the 
present  government  of  this  country — false  and  double-dealing 
men  as  we  hold  them  to  be,  and  traitors  to  the  king  their 
master  as  they  are  to  God  and  to  us  over  whom  they  are  ap- 
pointed to  rule  in  justice  and  in  all  righteousness.  The  God  of 
all  truth  who  hears  my  words,  knows  whether  I speak  according 
to  truth  this  day  !” 

After  a short  consultation  with  the  principal  lords  and  gentle- 
men of  his  company,  Lord  Gormanstown  advanced  again  to 
O’Moore,  and  extending  his  mailed  hand,  which  the  chieftain,  it* 
may  be  presumed,  was  not  slow  to  take,  he  said  slowly  and 
distinctly : 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


189 


“ If  that  be  so,  Mr.  O’Moore,  we  of  the  Pale  will  join  heart  • 
and  hand  in  your  loyal  and  commendable  efforts  on  behalf  of  God 
and  the  king’s  majesty.” 

This  announcement,  made  with  the  calm  precision  and  the 
dignified  composure  so  characteristic  of  the  speaker,  yet  without 
the  slightest  tinge  of  arrogance  or  affected  condescension,  was 
instantly  communicated  by  O’Moore’s  companions  to  their  anx- 
ious followers  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  while  Rory  himself  hastened 
to  express  in  a few  appropriate  and  well  chosen  words  the  plea- 
sure he  received  from,  and  the  importance  he  attached  to,  this 
formal  adhesion. 

O’ Byrne,  less  accustomed  to  control  his  feelings,  and,  per- 
haps, not  quite  so  conversant  with  the  etiquette  of  the  day,  rode 
eagerly  forward  and  shook  Lord  Gormanstown  warmly  by  the 
hand,  while  his  whole  face  glowed  with  joyful  animation. 

“ By  St.  Kevin  !”  he  cried,  “ your  words  are  right  welcome  to 
our  ears,  my  lord  of  Gormanstown  ! Heretofore,  we  have  been 
fighting  the  battle  single-handed,  as  one  may  say,  but  that  could 
only  last  awhile,  do  our  best — and  surely  it  will  nerve  our  arms 
with  now  strength  when  Clan- Saxon  of  the  Pale  arises  in  its 
might  to  strike  with  us  for  homes  and  altars !” 

“ It  was  high  time  they  should,”  said  McMahon  quickly,  “ an’ 
they  held  back  much  longer  all  the  water  in  Lough  Erne  would 
not  wash  out  their  disgrace.  I give  you  joy,  Lord  Gormanstown, 
for  that  you  and  these  other  noble  gentlemen  have  taken  it  in 
head  to  retrieve  your  character  in  the  eyes  of  Catholic  Europe 
ere  yet  it  be  too  late.” 

However  nettled  the  Palesmen  might  have  been  by  this  cha- 
racteristic allusion  to  their  tardiness,  they  were  not  the  men  to 
give  way  to  unseemly  ire,  especially  where  they  knew  that  no 
actual  insult  was  meant.  A general  introduction  immediately 
took  place,  and  after  some  brief  inquiries  from  those  of  the  Pale 
as  to  the  present  prospects  and  intentions  of  their  new  allies, 
Lord  Gormanstown  requested  the  High  Sheriff,  who  was  present, 
to  convene  another  and  larger  meeting  for  that  day  week,  to  be 
held  on  the  hill  of  Tara. 

“ The  place  is  favorable  to  our  purpose,”  said  his  lordship  aside 
to  0’ Moore  and  the  other  Irish  chieftains.  “It  is  central  for  us 


190 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  the  Pale  counties,  and  as  the  seat  of  the  ancient  royalty  of 
this  kingdom  it  must  needs  be  dear  to  you  of  the  Milesian  race, 
who  will,  I doubt  not,  deem  it  a fitting  spot  for  the  solemn  con- 
summation of  our  alliance !” 

This  graceful  compliment  to  the  national  traditions  of  an  un- 
kinged people  was  both  understood  and  appreciated  by  the 
chieftains  of  the  old  race,  and  when,  the  auspicious  conference 
being  closed,  the  parties  separated  to  retrace  their  respective 
ways  homeward,  the  friendly  farewell  clasp  exchanged  between 
the  Irish  chiefs  and  the  Norman  nobles  was  accompanied  by  a 
hearty  cheer  from  their  followers  on  either  side,  those  amongst 
them  who  stood  high  enough  on  the  sloping  sides  of  the  hill  to 
have  a view  of  what  passed,  telegraphing  their  friends  and  fel- 
lows who  were  not  so  fortunate. 

While  this  auspicious  alliance  was  being  formed  between  tho 
Catholic  English  of  the  Pale  and  the  old  Irish,  as  they  were 
called,  the  national  cause  was  rapidly  gaining  ground  in  other 
parts  of  the  kingdom.  The  Kavanaghs  of  Carlow,  with  the 
O’Byrnes  and  O’Tooles  of  Wicklow,  had  marshalled  their  clans 
and  raised  their  standards  for  God  and  the  right.  But  the  faith- 
ful tribes  of  Wicklow  had  already  paid  dear  for  their  patriotic 
efforts  to  aid  their  brethren  in  the  north.  Sir  Charles  Coote, 
with  his  sanguinary  bands,  recalled  from  Meath  for  the  express 
purpose,  was  sent  amongst  them,  armed  with  plenary  authority 
to  burn,  harry,  and  massacre  all  before  him. 

The  Castle  of  Wicklow  being  closely  besieged  by  the  O’Byrnes, ' 
Coote  was  ordered  to  relieve  its  garrison,  which  he  did  with  that 
wanton  slaughter  of  the  besiegers’ with  which  no  other  general 
would  disgrace  his  arms.  Being  once  in  possession  of  the  for- 
tress, he  took  occasion  to  make  daily  excursions  amongst  the 
natives  of  the  towo  and  its  vicinity,  just  by  way,  he  jocularly 
said,  of  making  their  acquaintance.  The  nature  of  these  visits 
may  be  easily  understood,  and  was  so  well  understood  by  the 
surrounding  population  that  the  gates  of  the  old  Castle  were  no 
sooner  heard  to  turn  on  their  hinges  than  mothers  fled  with  their 
young  children  to  the  recesses  of  the  neighboring  mountains, 
while  the  men,  with  stern  and  desperate  resolution,  seized  whatever 
weapons  they  could  find,  and,  drawing  together  for  mutual  de- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


191 


fence,  awaited  in  silence  the  descent  of  Coote’s  murderous  troops 
from  the  Castle.  Scenes  of  horror  were  enacted  on  these  occa- 
sions, the  recital  of  which  makes  the  blood  run  cold. 

In  Coote’s  first  descent  upon  the  town,  the  inhabitants  taken 
by  surprise,  were  wholly  unprepared  for  the  humorous  pranks 
wherewith  the  soldiers  under  his  command,  and  under  his  eyes, 
amused  themselves.  Babes  were  torn  from  the  arms  of  their 
shrieking  mothers  and  tossed  on  the  points  of  spears  or  bayonets 
from  one  to  another  of  the  soldiers,  amid  shouts  of  laughter  and 
yells  of  delight.  And  Coote  himself  stood  by,  enjoying  the  rare 
sport,  and  commending  the  dexterity  of  their  performances.* 
How  females  were  used  in  these  pastimes,  it  becomes  not  us  to 
tell,  but  in  very  many  cases,  they  were  ripped  open  by  way 
of  winding  up.  This,  however,  was  not  suffered  to  be  of  fre- 
quent occurrence,  for,  as  I have  said,  after  the  first  or  -second 
visit  of  these  barbarians  the  women  and  children  took  refuge  in 
the  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains  on  the  least  intimation 
of  their  approach.  Even  there  they  did  not  always  escape,  for, 
on  one  occasion,  some  of  the  soldiers  having  learned  where  a 
party  of  the  helpless  fugitives  were  concealed,  swore  with  hellish 
glee  that  they  would  smoke  them  out.  To  work  they  went, 
made  a fire  of  brushwood  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  then  plac- 
ing themselves  in  silence  round  with  bayonets  screwed  on  their 
muskets,  they  coolly  awaited  the  result  of  their  pleasant  frolic. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long,  for  no  sooner  had  the  thick  smoke 
penetrated  to  the  interior  of  the  cavern  than  groans  and  choking 
cries  were  heard,  at  first  in  the  feeble  voices  of  children,  then 
came  the  half-suppressed  shrieks  of  women,  and  a chorus  of 
fiendish  laughter  burst  from  the  savage  listeners  without.  Pre- 
sently the  sounds  from  within  were  heard  to  approach  the  aper- 
ture, and  through  the  flickering  flames  were  seen  fearful-looking 
female  forms,  some  with  infants  in  their  arms,  all  blackened 
and  begrimed  with  smoke,  attempting  to  make  their  way  through 
the  fire.  At  this  sight,  compassion  moved  the  heart  of  one  of 

* Unfortunately  these  Wicklow  horrors  are  matter  of  history- 
even  Protestant  writers  admit  that  Sir  Charles  Coote  exercised  all 
manner  of  cruelty  amongst  the  Wicklow  tribes. 


192 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  officers,  and  seeing  the  soldiers  thrusting  the  unhappy  crea- 
tures back  in-to  the  fatal  cave  with  their  bayonets,  he  sternly  re- 
buked them,  and  made  an  effort  to  have  the  fire  extinguished. 
Alas ! he  himself  was  reprimanded  by  his  fierce  superior  from  be- 
hind in  a voice  of  thunder,  and  ordered  immediately  to  his 
quarters. 

Captain  Jameson  bowed  and  walked  away,  well  pleased  at  heart 
to  escape  from  such  a scene.  That  was  the  last  time  he  ever 
went  out  with  C-oote,  for  next  day  he  sent  in  his  resignation  and 
retired  from  the  army  in  disgust. 

Before  the  gallant  band  of  soldiers  quitted  that  mountain-glen, 
they  made  sure  that  no  human  being  remained  alive  in  the  cave, 
for  they  drove  the  fire  farther  and  farther  into  its  mouth,  until  at 
last  the  groans,  and  cries,  and  piteous  moans,  all  died  away, 
and  the  silence  which  followed  assured  them  that  their  work 
was  finished. 


THE  C0NFEDERA1E  CHIEFTAINS. 


193 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


“ But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  point, 

And  we’ll  not  fail.” 

Shakespeare. 


tl  The  better  part  of  valor  is  discretion.” 

Shakespeare. 

The  middle  of  December  bad  hardly  arrived  when  Drogheda 
was  in  the  condition  of  a closely-beleagured  town.  Some  twelve 
thousand*  of  the  allied  Irish  army  occupied  the  villages  for  miles 
around.  The  meeting  at  Tara  had  been  followed  by  immediate 
action  on  the  part  of  the  lords  and  gentry  of  the  Pale.  Each 
nobleman  and  gentleman  undertook  to  raise  a certain  number  of 
men  within  the  limits  of  his  own  district.  Lord  Gormanstown 
was  appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  army,  to  be  raised  in 
the  five  counties,  and  Lord  Fingal  was  commissioned  to  act  as  mas- 
ter of  the  horse.  The  Ulster  forces  were  still,  of  course,  under 
the  command  of  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  with  Art  Oge  McMahon ; 
Philip  O’Reilly  and  Sir  Con  Magennis  as  subordinates  in  com- 
mand. Roderick  Maguire  also  commanded  a troop  of  horse, 
and  Lorcan  a company  of  infantry.  The  junction  with  the  Lords 
of  the  Pale  and  their  adherents  infused  new  life,  with  new  hope  into 
the  easily- disheartened  or  easily-elated  Irish,  and  when  the  siege 
of  Drogheda  commenced,  and  they  found  themselves  undertak- 
ing it  under  auspices  so  favorable — provisions  supplied  in  plenty 
by  the  fruitful  territory  of  the  Normans — they  were  quite  san- 
guine of  success,  notwithstanding  the  well-known  strength  of  the 
place  and  the  numerous  garrison  which  the  voice  of  rumor  as- 
signed to  it. 

*D’  Alton,  in  his  History  of  Drogheda,  says  that  tho  besieging 
army  amounted  to  eighteen  thousand  before  all  was  over. 

9a 


194 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Sir  Pkelim  had  his  headquarters  in  Bewly  House,  within  three 
miles  or  so  of  the  town  on  the  banks  of  the  silvery  Boyne. 
Parties  of  his  troops  were  also  in  possession  of  Rathmullen  Castle, 
with  the  villages  of  Betty stown,  Mornington,  Oldbridge,  Tully al- 
ien, and  Ballymakenny.* 

Any  one  at  all  acquainted  with  the  geographical  situation  of 
Drogheda  will  see  at  a glance  from  this  enumeration  of  the 
places  held  by  the  Irish,  that  they  had  the  town  invested  on  every 
side — seaward  they  had  Bettystown  and  Mornington,  landward, 
and  commanding  the  river  they  had  the  heights  of  Rathmullen 
and  the  plains  of  Oldbridge,  while  back  into  the  country  in 
various  directions,  the  other  posts  mentioned  extended  their  con- 
trol. But,  alas!  with  all  these  advantages— including  the  pos- 
session of  the  harbor  which  they  closely  blockaded — there  was 
one  great  want  on  the  part  of  the  besiegers,  so  great,  indeed, 
that  it  left  them  with  all  but  empty  hands  in  the  presence  of 
the  enemy.  This  was  the  old  story — the  almost  total  want  of 
artillery  or  ordinance  of  any  kind.  Their  arms  and  ammunition, 
too,  were  very  insufficient  for  such  an  army — had  they  been 
even  in  a degree  proportioned  to  the  number  of  men,  the  siege 
of  Drogheda  would  stand  differently  recorded  on  the  page  of 
history. 

And  so  it  happened  that  while  the  garrison  was  reduced  to 
the  most  grievous  straits  by  the  unceasing  watchfulness  of  the 
besiegers,  while  reinforcements  and  supplies  were  alike  excluded 
by  sea  and  land,  and  while  a brave,  and  numerous,  and  vigilant 
force  occupied  every  available  position  around  the  town,  its 
strong  walls  were,  week  after  week,  unassailed,  and  its  imme- 
diate precincts  still  uninvaded  by  hostile  foot. 

The  governor  of  the  town,  a tough  old  Puritan  soldier,  Sir 
Henry  Tichbourne  by  name,  was  a man  who  held  all  Papist  recu- 
sants in  holy  horror,  and  thought  them  only  to  be  treated  with 
sword  in  one  hand  and  Bible  in  the  other,  by  way  of  a double 
exorcism.  Still  he  had  not  the  ferocious  cruelty  of  Sir  Charles 
Coote — at  least  the  shedding  of  blood  or  the  sight  of  human  tor- 
ture gave  him  no  pleasure,  although  if  the  cause  required  it,  he 


See  D’ Alton’s  History  of  Droghcda}  p.  230. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


195 


could  kill,  and  burn,  and  destroy  as  well  as  Coote  or  any  other 
general  of  the  time.  He  was,  however,  a brave  and  skilful  officer, 
and  his  defence  of  Drogheda,  under  such  adverse  circumstances, 
raised  him  high  in  the  estimation  of  his  own  party,  as  it  made 
him  feared  and  respected  by  the  other. 

The  straits  to  which  the  garrison  was  reduced  at  that  time, 
almost  equal  the  hardest  necessities  of  Derry  or  any  other  siege  oi 
modern  times.  And  what  most  afflicted  Sir  Henry  and  his  officers 
was  the  fact,  that  the  shameful  neglect  of  the  government  had 
quite  as  much  share  in  producing  their  hardships  and  privations 
as  the  watchfulness  of  the  besiegers.  Letters  addressed  to  Lord 
Ormond  and  the  government  were  repeatedly  intercepted,  com- 
plaining in  the  bitterest  and  most  moving  terms  of  the  wants  of 
the  garrison.  But  the  wants  continued,  and  the  weather  increased 
in  severity,  and  the  various  parties  sent  out  at  different  times 
under  the  pressure  of  necessity  to  seek  provisions  were,  for  the 
most  part,  either  captured  or  slain  by  some  of  the  numerous  Irish 
detachments  encircling  the  place.  At  last,  famine  and  despair, 
made  more  excruciating  by  the  stinging  sense  of  neglect,  brought 
about  strange  things.  The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  were  fre- 
quently seen  scaling  the  walls  by  night,  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
discovery  from  within  on  account  of  the  blazing  warlights  kept 
up  at  regular  intervals  along  the  walls  and  ramparts.  On  reach- 
ing the  ground  these  men  made  their  way  directly  to  some  Irish 
post,  stating  that  they  fled  from  salt  herrings  and  bad  water  to 
which  fare  the  provident  and  remunerative  bounty  of  the  Lords 
Justices  had  so  long  consigned  them. 

It  was  amusing  to  witness  the  surprise  manifested  by  some  of 
these  men  on  finding  themselves  actually  in  the  presence  of  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill,  the  great  Irish  ogre  of  their  guard-room  stories, 
the  fierce  warrior  whom  they  looked  upon  and  spoke  of  as  half 
man,  half  demon,  hideous  in  person  as  diabolical  in  spirit.  The 
boisterous  laughter  wherewith  the  rough  chieftain  heard  these 
ludicrous  imaginings  of  their  diseased  fancy,  both  startled  and 
amazed  the  semi-puritanical  soldiers  of  Tichbourne  ; yet  the  blunt 
and  unexpected  good-nature  with  which  their  starving  stomachs 
were  relieved  by  his  orders  very  soon  reconciled  them  to  his 
Papistical  want  of  gravity. 


196 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Many  a desperate  struggle,  without  the  walls,  marked  the 
passage  of  those  long,  long  weeks,  during  which  the  Irish  army 
kept  watch  and  ward  around  the  old  town.  Having  no  encamp- 
ment, the  severity  of  the  weather  forbade  them  to  remain  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  town,  where  shelter  was  not  to  be 
found,  so  that  the  troops  were  posted  here  and  there  within  the 
distance  of  a few  miles,  wherever  they  could  be  protected  from 
the  inclemency  of  that  unusually  rigorous  season.  The  frequent 
sallies  of  those  from  the  town,  made  in  different  directions,  kept 
the  besiegers  constantly  on  the  alert,  from  the  continual  uncer- 
tainty in  which  they  were  as  to  the  point  where  the  sortie  was  to 
be  made. 

In  the  midst  of  their  hard  and  arduous  duties,  only  a few  days 
before  St.  Thomas’s  Day,  which  was  that  fixed  on  for  a grand 
attack,  the  mercurial  Celts  of  the  north  were  elated  beyond 
measure  by  the  unlooked-for  arrival  of  Miles  O’Grady,  one  of 
the  few  great  harpers  remaining  in  Ireland,  who  had  travelled 
all  the  way  from  the  hills  of  Breffny  to  chant  the  war  song  for 
the  O’Reillys,  to  the  fortunes  of  whose  chief  he  was  for  weal  or 
woe  attached,  and  had  been  so  from  early  boyhood.  It  was  at 
Oldbridge  that  the  Clan  O’Reilly  lay,  and  thither  Miles  made  his 
way,  his  small  harp  slung  on  one  shoulder,  and  a wallet  on 
the  other  containing  his  oaten  cakes,  with  a little  flask  of  us- 
quebaugh. He  was  accompanied  by  a youth  of  some  twenty 
summers,  a tall  and  rather  delicate  stripling,  with  a mild  and 
somewhat  pensive  aspect,  and  clustering  brown  curls,  which 
would  have  given  him  a girlish  look  were  it  not  for  the  dark  hue 
of  his  complexion  and  the  fire  which  gleamed  in  his  large  eyes. 
He  was  a stranger  to  all  the  Irish  host,  even  the  harper  could 
give  no  other  account  of  him  than  that  he  had  found  him  wan- 
dering on  the  confines  of  Louth,  inquiring  the  way  to  Drogheda. 
His  name,  he  said,  was  Angus  Dhu,  at  least  he  would  give  no 
other,  and  by  that  soubriquet  he  was  ever  after  known  amongst 
the  soldiers. 

Notwithstanding  the  attraction  of  Miles’s  music,  his  young 
travelling  companion  did  not  long  remain  at  O’Reilly’s  quarters. 
Wandering  about  from  one  post  to  another,  he  at  length  reached 
Bewly  House,  and  by  some  strange  whim  there  took  up  his  abode 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


197 


amongst  the  martial  clansmen  of  Tyr-Owen.  The  northern  ac- 
cent was  on  his  Irish  tongue,  and  many  questions  were,  therefore, 
put  to  him  regarding  the  distant  land  of  the  O’Neills,  but  the 
questions  soon  ceased,  for  he  declared  himself  wholly  unac- 
quainted with  that  part  of  the  country.  Much  curiosity  was  at 
first  excited  by  the  singular  reserve  in  which  the  youth  chose  to 
enshroud  himself ; but  after  a few  days  the  mystery  was  forgot- 
ten, and  Angus  Dhu  came  and  went  like  any  other  individual  of 
that  “ varied  host.” 

St.  Thomas’s  Eve  came  on  dark  and  dull  as  the  days  usually 
are  at  that  season — the  few  short  hours  of  daylight  were  spent  in 
preparation  for  a general  attack,  too  much  time  having  been 
already  lost  in  useless  delay,  according  to  the  opinion  of  the 
most  experienced  officers.  Silently,  and  as  they  fondly  hoped, 
unnoticed  by  those  within  the  town,  the  Irish  leaders  prepared 
their  respective  troops  for  the  assault,  too  sanguine,  most  of 
them,  in  their  hopes  of  success  to  entertain  the  possibility  of 
failure.  But  Sir  Henry  Tichbourne  was  not  the  man  to  be  taken 
unawares,  as  the  besiegers  found  to  their  cost.  When  under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  they  applied  their  scaling  ladders  to  the 
walls,  and  moimted  with  hearts  full  of  hope  and  courage,  noth- 
ing doubting  of  success,  they  found  bristling  bayonets  and  grim 
faces  behind  them  at  every  accessible  point.  Silent  as  the  grave 
wras  the  watch  of  these  stern  veterans,  the  first  intimation  the  assail- 
ants received  of  their  presence  being  from  the  point  of  the  bayo- 
net, so  that  in  very  many  cases  those  coming  next  on  the  ladders 
were  only  apprised  of  the  reception  awaiting  them  by  the  death- 
groan  of  their  comrades  above  and  their  heavy  fall  to  the  ground, 
too  often  dragging  their  fellows  with  them  clutched  in  their  dying 
grasp.  Courage  and  skill  were  alike  useless : however  it  was 
that  Tichbourne  had  disposed  of  his  forces  there  seemed  not  a 
single  point  left  unguarded,  and,  as  the  Irish  officers  understood 
when  too  late,  the  cressets  and  other  lights  usually  burning  on 
the  walls  were  that  night  nowhere  to  be  seen.  It  was  a night  of 
darkness,  silence  and  death,  and  the  loss  sustained  by  the  besiegers 
was  so  considerable  as  to  stamp  its  horrors  indelibly  on  their 
minds.  But  although  repulsed  with  heavy  loss,  and  necessarily 
thrown  into  confusion  by  a result  so  wholly  unexpected,  the 


198 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Irish  soldiers,  for  the  most  part,  exhibited  such  steady  courage 
as  to  excite  the  surprise  of  the  garrison.  Many  instances  of 
hardy  and  persevering  valor  were  displayed  on  that  memorable 
occasion,  and  one  of  these  came  near  to  obtain  possession  of  the 
West  Gate  from  which  a sortie  had  been  made  on  the  assailants, 
a party  of  the  followers  of  O’Neill.  The  gate  was,  in  fact,  taken 
and  retaken  several  times  before  the  attention  of  the  rest  of  the 
garrison  was  called  to  that  particular  point,  the  Irish  being  led 
on  by  a youth  wno  seemed  animated  with  more  than  mortal  cour- 
age, and  on  whom  defeat  had  no  other  effect  than  that  of  a spur 
to  renewed  action.  Even  in  the  breathless  rush  of  that  fell 
struggle,  amid  the  gloom  of  the  winter  night  and  the  silence  of 
mutual  caution,  the  neck-or-nothing  bravery  of  that  young  Irish 
soldier  attracted  the  attention  of  both  parties,  and  although  the 
arrival  of  a stuong  reinforcement  from  the  Tholsel  gave  victory  to 
the  defenders  of  the  gate,  and  left  the  brave  assailants  on  the  out- 
side, still  his  feats  of  valor  were  not  forgotten,  and  Sir  Phelim 
himself  on  the  following  day  made  special  inquiries  concerning 
him.  But  whoever  he  was  notoriety  was  not  his  object,  for,  the 
useless  struggle  of  the  night  once  over,  his  identity  was  not  to  be 
traced. 

Next ’day  Angus  Dhu  made  his  appearance  in  a block-house 
erected  by  the  besiegers  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  where  Shamus 
Beg  was  left  in  command  of  a small  party.  The  account  which 
Angus  gave  of  the  night’s  disaster  was  gloomy  enough,  and  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers  sank  within  them  as  they  listened,  but  when 
the  youth  came  to  tell  of  the  mysterious  stranger  who  had  so 
nearly  taken  West  Gate,  and  of  Sir  Phelim’s  anxiety  to  find  him 
out,  dejection  and  despondency  were  swallowed  up  in  curiosity 
and  that  eager  thirst  for  the  marvellous  so  common  to  all  Celtic 
people. 

“ Who  knows  but  it’s  one  of  the  old  ancient  heroes  mentioned 
in  prophecy  that’s  coming  back  to  help  us  in  our  need,”  said 
Shamus  thoughtfully.  “We  all  know  they’re  to  come  one  day 
or  another.” 

“ Yes,  but  when  they  do,”  said  Angus  quickly,  “ they’ll  not  go 
without  their  errand — they’ll  leave  their  mark  behind  them, 
Shamus,  or  where’s  the  use  of  them  coming  at  all.  It  isn’t  to  be 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


199 


beaten  as  we  were  last  night  that  thev’d  show  their  faces — no, 
no,  I'm  thinking  the  young  man — let  him  be  who  he  might — had 
a little  business  to  settle  with  the  cut-throats — a message  to  de- 
liver or  something  that  way.’ 

Angus  started  in  some  confusion  and  changed  color,  for  he  saw 
Shamus’s  eyes  fixed  on  him  with  a look  of  keen  scrutiny  that 
made  him  wince.  Muttering  something  about  looking  out  for 
squalls  he  darted  to  the  door,  and  was  soon  apparently  lost  in 
contemplating  the  wintry  flood, — hardly  to  be  recognized  as  the 
silvery  Boyne, — pouring  down  into  the  boiling  waters  of  the  Bay. 
As  for  Shamus  and  the  other  soldiers  of  his  party  they  were  too 
well  accustomed  to  the  lad’s  strange  humors  to  feel  or  express 
any  surprise. 

Christmas  was  more  merrily  spent  amongst  the  Irish  troops 
than  might  be  imagined  under  the  circumstances.  What  with 
the  surpassing  music  of  O’Grady’s  harp,  the  numerous  pipes  and 
other  instruments  then  called  into  requisition  for  other  than  mar- 
tial purposes,  what  with  the  various  assemblies  of  the  officers 
held  at  the  different  mansions  in  possession  of  the  army,  and  the 
solemn  celebration  of  the  joyous  mystery  of  the  time,  the  Christ- 
mas holidays  passed  cheerily  away.  For  well  nigh  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  the  proud  Normans  of  the  Pale  were  brought  into 
close  and  constant  communication  with  the  native  chiefs,  and 
the  result  was,  as  might  be  expected,  a more  cordial  feeling  be- 
tween them. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  festive  occasions  when  Lord  Fingal  was 
entertaining  in  military  fashion  the  other  leaders  of  the  army, 
with  their  respective  officers,  that  Art  McMahon  was  requested 
to  speak  to  a person  outside  the  door  who  had  just  arrived  from 
Dublin. 

“ From  Dublin!”  the  chief  repeated  aloud,  and  his  words  were 
echoed  with  a start  by  many  of  the  lords  and  gentlemen ; “ from 
Dublin! — who  can  it  be  1 —the  bearer  of  some  overtures,  per- 
chance, from  my  lord  of  Ormond.’1' 

Expecting  some  communication  of  great  importance,  McMahon 
left  the  hall,  and  dead  silence  prevailed  during  his  absence,  each 
gazing  in  his  neighbor’s  face  to  learn  the  purport  of  his  thoughts. 

Only  a few  moments  had  elapsed  when  the  chieftain’s  firm 


200 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tread  was  heard  approaching,  and  all  eyes  were  instantly  fixed 
on  the  door.  His  portly  form  was  no  sooner  seen  at  the  entrance 
than  the  anxious  cloud  disappeared  from  every  brow,  for  he  was 
laughing  heartily.  Advancing  up  the  spacious  hall  to  his  place 
at  the  table,  he  said  to  Lord  Gormanstown  who  occupied  the 
presidential  seat : 

“ Your  lordship  has  doubtless  heard  of  the  mountain  in  labor 
— a new  version  of  that  old  story  is  what  I have  to  tell.  To  save 
you  all  the  trouble  of  asking  questions,  you  must  know  that  the 
new  arrival  is  no  other  than  an  old  follower  of  our  house,  Mala- 
chy  McMahon  by  name,  who  has  been  to  Dublin  in  search  of  the 
reading  for  certain  dreams  of  his.” 

“ Is  it  Malachy  na  soggarth  7”  inquired  O’Reilly  ; “ I heard  he 
was  gone  to  see  your  brother — poor  simple  man ! how  did  he 
fare  7” 

“ As  might  be  expected,  Phil — he  saw  the  outside  of  the 
Castle  walls — no  more.  But  even  that  was  a comfort  to  the  poor 
fellow ’ 

“If  it  was,  I paid  dear  for  it,”  said  Malachy  from  the  lower 
end  of  the  hall,  he  having  followed  his  chieftain  so  far.  The 
general  attention  once  attracted  to  him,  his  singular  appearance 
and  abrupt  speech  called  a smile  to  every  face. 

“ How  is  that,  Malachy  I”  inquired  McMahon.  “ What  went 
wrong  with  you  I” 

“Not  much  with  me , only  what  I heard.  I fell  in  with  a friar 
— a Franciscan  I think  he  was — and  he  told  me  all  about  what 
the  hell-hounds  done  to  our  noble  Tanistand  Lord  Maguire ” 

“ And  what  was  that  7”  cried  his  chief  with  a start.  “ What 
has  befallen  Costelloe  7” 

Malachy  groaned  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  while 
his  chief,  approaching  him  with  rapid  step,  urged  him  to  speak. 
“ Tell  me,  in  God’s  name,  have  they  killed  my  brother  7” 

“ If  they  didn’t  kill  him  all  out,”  said  poor  Malachy,  “ it  was 
almost  the  same  thing — they  put  him  on  the  rack,  and  kept  him 
there  till  the  life  was  most  gone — they  wanted  to  make  him  con- 
fess, the  friar  told  me,  about  that  commission  Sir  Phelim  has  from 
the  king.” 

“ It  is  false !’'  cried  Lord  Netterville,  starting  from  the  table ; 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


201 


“ there  be  no  such  commission — but  what  did  Mr.  McMahon  con- 
fess— or  did  he  confess  anything  V' 

“ He  had  nothing  to  confess,”  said  Art  proudly,  as  he  turned 
his  ghastly  face  towards  the  company  ; “ the  rack  could  force 
nothing  from  poor  Costelloe  !’ 

“ Not  a word,”  hastily  put  in  Malachy,  anxious  for  the  honor 
of  the  house  of  Uriel ; “ not  a word  they  could  get  from  either  of 
the  two — Lord’s  blessing  be  about  them  !” 

“Lords  and  gentlemen — friends  all!”  said  Art  McMahon,  in 
a choking  voice,  “ how  long  is  this  to  last  'l — how  long  are  these 
miscreants  to  exult  in  our  sufferings  'l — oh  ! my  brother ! — my 
brave  brother  ! why  was  I not  near  with  half  a hundred  of  our 
faithful  clan — when  they  dared  to  stretch  your  free-born  limbs 
on  their  accursed  rack  ! — oh,  God  ! why  was  I not  there  V’ 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  rushed  from  the  hall,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Malachy,  anxious,  doubtless,  to  inform  his  fol- 
lowers of  what  had  happened. 

Even  the  coldest  of  those  who  remained  behind  was  roused  to 
resentment  by  this  new  outrage,  and  a solemn  vow  was  taken  on 
the  spot  alike  by  Irish  chief  and  Norman  noble  to  wipe  out  the 
long  score  which  they  owed  to  the  government  if  God  spared 
them  life. 

The  army  from  that  night  forward  became  restless  and  impa- 
tient. Anxious  to  do  something,  yet  condemned  to  a state  of 
inactivity  almost  in  the  presence  of  the  hated  foe,  the  hearts  of 
young  and  old  panted  for  an  opportunity  to  grapple  with  the 
veteran  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  who,  by  this  time,  they  deemed 
well  worn  by  continual  famine. 

Early  in  the  month  of  January,  one  cold,  frosty  morning,  the 
wildest  excitement  suddenly  spread  amongst  besiegers  and  be- 
sieged. Sundry  attempts  had  been  made  at  various  times  lately 
to  relieve  the  garrison,  all  proving  ineffectual  because  of  the  un- 
ceasing watchfulness  of  the  beleaguering  forces.  That  morning, 
however,  a sloop  and  a pinnace  laden  with  provisions  had  boldly 
sailed  up  the  bay,  and,  favored  by  a landward  breeze,  crossed  the 
sand-bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  managed  to  get  over  the 
chain,  which,  for  further  security,  had  been  laid  across,  and  in 
safety  reached  the  wharf  at  James’n  Bridge  amid  the  cheers  and 


202 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


plaudits  of  a multitude,  consisting  of  thousands  of  the  half- 
starved  garrison  and  townspeople,  who  had  been  watching  with 
greedy  eyes,  ever  since  they  hove  in  sight,  the  precious  little 
craft,  which,  at  such  fearful  risk,  brought  life  and  hope  to  them. 

The  shouts  of  exultation  from  within  the  town  brought  in- 
creased dejection  to  those  without,  and  so  much  time  being  al- 
ready lost,  some  of  the  leaders  began  to  talk  seriously  of  raising 
the  siege,  and  turning  their  attention  to  some  other  place  where 
success  was  more  probable.  Towards  evening,  however,  their 
prevailing  despondency  seemed  to  vanish,  and  a more  cheerful 
spirit  took  possession  of  all.  There  was  bustle  and  buoyant 
excitement  where  late  there  had  been  dullness  and  dejection,  and 
the  change  was,  under  the  circumstances,  altogether  inexplicable. 
Divers  mysterious  meetings  and  hurried  councils  took  place 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  day,  but  as  night  came  on  all  was 
again  quiet,  and  silence  seemed  to  have  settled  down  on  the  Irish 
host. 

In  the  mid-watches  of  the  night,  about  five  hundred  chosen 
men,  chiefly  from  McMahon’s  and  O’Neill’s  countries,  marched 
out  in  the  direction  of  St.  James’s  Gate,  and  having  reached  an 
old  door,  sheltered  from  general  observation  by  a projecting  angle 
of  the  wall,  the  officer  in  command — it  was  Eman  Oge  McMahon 
— struck  three  times  on  the  wood  with  the  point  of  his  sword. 
The  door  was  instantly  opened,  and,  silent  as  spectres,  the  clans- 
men marched  through  in  single  file,  finding  themselves,  as  well 
as  the  faint  star-light  would  permit  them  to  judge,  treading  the 
alley  of  an  old  orchard. 

“ Now,”  whispered  the  person  who  admitted  them,  “ now  or 
never — you  have  the  game  in  your  own  hands,  and  there  be  many 
within  the  town  who  will  bless  God  if  you  succeed — forward  in 
His  name !” 

“Whither'?*'  asked  Eman.  in  the  same  tone;  “we  are  but 
strangers,  as  you  know  !” 

“ To  the  Mill-mount,  an’  you  take  a friend’s  advice— cross  the 
bridge,  and  make  straight  up  the  hill — the  garrison  there  is 
small,  and  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  surprising  them — if  you  do, 
you  will  find  several  pieces  of  ordinance  which  will  ensure  your 
success — either  that,  or  master  the  guard  at  the  gate  close  by 
here,  and  then  let  in  as  many  as  you  will !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


203 


Alas ! by  some  fatal  misapprehension,  the  party ^.id  neither. 
Making  straight  for  the  heart  of  the  city,  and,  forgetting  in  the 
wild  excitement  of  the  moment,  the  extreme  necessity  of  pru- 
dence and  caution — confident,  moreover,  of  having  victory  in 
their  own  hands,  a thrilling  shout  burst  from  their  ranks,  meant 
at  once  to  apprise  their  comrades  without  of  their  being  fairly 
inside  the  walls,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  strike  terror  into  the 
slumbering  and  apparently  unconscious  garrison. 

“ Great  God !”  cried  Eman,  “ what  have  ye  done  1 — we  are  lost 
—lost !” 

It  was  too  late  to  redeem  the  fatal  error.  The  sound  of  horses’ 
hoofs  was  heard  approaching  with  headlong  haste  down  Shop 
street  towards  the  bridge.  At  the  same  moment  the  drums  beat 
to  arms,  and  the  Irish,  not  knowing  how  many  or  how  few  were 
the  assailants  gathering  around  them  in  the  darkness,  made' an 
effort  to  regain  the  orchard,  and  thence  the  door  by  which  they 
had  entered.  About  two  hundred  of  them  succeeded,  but,  alas ! 
the  enemy  had  already  mustered  in  strength,  and  the  stern  voice 
of  Tichbourne  was  heard  commanding  no  quarter  to  be  given. 

“ Hew  them  down,”  he  said;  “'in  God’s  name,  let  not  one 
escape !” 

Even  while  this  pitiless  order  was  given,  doors  were  softly 
opened  in  the  rear  of  the  bewildered  Irish,  and  many  of  them 
were  drawn  in  by  friendly  hands  unseen,  undreamed  of  by  the 
Puritan  soldiers  or  their  relentless  commander.  Others  finding 
their  retreat  cut  off,  turned  on  the  foe  with  their  pikes  and  made 
what  defence  they  could.  These  wTere  almost  to  a man  cut  down 
by  the  swords  and  sabres  of  Tichbourne’s  troop,  so  that  fully  one- 
half  of  those  who  marched  so  proudly  through  the  orchard  some 
half  an  hour  before,  paid  with  their  life  the  forfeit  of  their  impru- 
dence. 

Amongst  those  who  fell  was  the  gallant  young  leader  of  the 
party,  who,  refusing  to  quit  the  place  and  leave  any  of  his  men 
exposed  to  danger,  was  cut  down,  sword  in  hand,  by  one  of  Tich- 
bourne’s officers. 

Thus  ended,  in  shame  and  humiliation,  disappointment  and 
death,  an  attempt  which  might  and  should  have  placed  Drogheda 
in  the  hands  of  the  Irish. 


204 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

“ What  thoJ  the  field  be  lost  ? 

All  is  not  lost ; the  ungovernable  will, 

* * # * 

And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield, 

And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome.” 

Milton’s  Paradise  Lost. 

“ A tale  more  strange  ne’er  graced  the  poet’s  art, 

And  ne’er  did  fiction  play  so  wild  a part.” 

Tickell. 

With  varying  success  the  Irish  army  remained  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Drogheda  all  through  the  months  of  January  and 
February — at  times  there  seemed  every  probability  of  the  gar- 
rison being  reduced  by  famine  to  surrender,  for  the  supplies  so 
wonderfully  introduced  into  the  town  in  the  beginning  of  Janu- 
ary lasted  but  a very  few  weeks.  Famine  and  sickness  soon 
began  to  produce  the  saddest  efFecls  amongst  the  hardy  soldiers 
of  the  garrison,  and  strong  hopes  were  entertained  by  the  leaders 
of  the  besieging  force  that  the  town  could  not  much  longer  hold 
out,  when  towards  the  end  of  February  a fearful  storm  came  on, 
which  carried  away  the  boom  from  the  mouth  of  the  river,  to- 
gether with  various  defences  erected  there  for  the  greater  secu- 
rity of  the  harbor.  Before  any  of  this  mischief  could  be  re- 
paired, certain  of  the  government  cruisers,  ever  hanging  around 
the  coasts  in  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  approaching  the  town, 
succeeded  in  making  their  way  to  the  wharf,  and  plentifully  sup- 
plied the  wants  of  the  garrison. 

Thus  strengthened,  and  invigorated  with  renewed  hope,  the  be- 
sieged not  only  defended  the  town  more  vigorously,  but  issuing 
forth,  in  considerable  detachments,  and  at  short  intervals,  they 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


205 


attacked  the  various  stations  occupied  by  the  Irish,  sometimes 
with  success,  but  just  as  often  to  be  driven  back  again  to  the 
shelter  of  their  strong  walls.  Many  a hard  struggle  took  place 
between  the  contending  parties  for  the  possession  of  fords  and 
passes  on  the  river.  On  one  occasion,  in  which  the  Irish  were 
defeated,  so  obstinate  was  the  contest  that  the  Nanny-water  at 
Julianstown  ran  red  with  the  blood  of  the  slain.  On  nearly  the 
same  spot  where  they  gained  a complete  and  bloodless  victory, 
they  were  themselves,  so  soon  after,  vanquished  with  fearful  loss. 
One  by  one  several  of  their  strongest  posts  were  taken,  owing  to 
their  fatal  want  of  ordinance,  and  to  crown  all  it  was  announced 
that  the  Earl  of  Ormond  was  at  length  marching  to  the  relief  of 
Drogheda  with  a strong  force  and  with  orders  to  burn,  pillage, 
and  destroy  the  houses  and  possessions  of  all  who  had  declared 
for  the  rebels  or  in  any  way  assisted  them. 

Hearing  this,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  thought  it  high  time  to  betake 
himself  again  to  the  woods  and  fastnesses  of  Ulster,  until  such 
time  as  Providence  might  send  him  a supply  of  arms  and  ammu- 
nition, with  such  artillery  as  might  enable  him  to  encounter  a 
regular  army  in  the  field.  Reluctantly  he  came  to  this  decision, 
which  his  allies  of  the  Pale,  moreover,  endeavored  to  combat 
with  a view  to  the  protection  of  their  own  goods  and  chattels, 
but  Sir  Phelim  took  it  into  his  head  that  the  preservation  of  his 
entire  fofce  depended  on  effecting  a speedy  retreat,  and  retreat 
into  Ulster  he  would  and  did,  to  the  great  joy  and  exultation  of 
the  garrison,  which  for  three  months  and  better  he  had  kept  so 
closely  straightened,  with  scarcely  a piece  of  cannon  in  his  pos- 
session, and  other  war-stores  in  such  limited  quantity  as  to  be 
wholly  insufficient  for  such  an  undertaking. 

With  the  exception  of  the  miserable  failure  of  that  fatal  night 
— and  Sir  Phelim  never  forgave  himself  for  not  having  entrusted 
the  enterprise  to  older  and  more  experienced  commanders — • 
everything  was  done  that  either  courage  or  prudence  could  dic- 
tate, and  if  the  siege  of  Drogheda  was  at  length  abortive,  the 
fault  lay  in  the  grievous  wants  already  mentioned,  wants  which 
should,  from  the  first,  have  prevented  an  undertaking  of  such 
magnitude  and  so  great  importance. 

Philip  O’Reilly  had  just  returned  for  a brief  season  of  rest  to 


206 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


his  paternal  halls,  and  the  clansmen  of  BrefFny  were  resting  in 
peace  after  the  fatigues  of  the  luckless  Louth  campaign,  await- 
ing another  summons  from  the  north,  when  the  chief  was  ap- 
prised of  the  death  of  old  Dr.  Beddell.  Application  had  been 
made  to  Bishop  McS weeny  for  permission  to  bury  him  within 
the  precincts  of  his  former  cathedral,  and  after  some  hesitation 
that  prelate  gave  his  consent. 

On  the  day  of  the  deceased  bishop’s  interment,  a sight  was 
seen  which  filled  his  friends  and  co-religionists  with  surprise.  A 
lonely  funeral  they  expected  to  have  of  it,  for  the  few  Protest- 
ants who  still  remained  in  the  neighborhood  feared  to  make  any 
demonstration,  or  in  fact  to  be  seen  abroad  at  all.  Great,  then, 
was  their  astonishment  when,  on  the  morning  fixed  for  the  fune- 
ral, a hundred  or  so  of  the  patriot-soldiers  of  BrefFny  marched 
to  the  late  prelate’s  house  with  soft  and  mournful  music,  and 
announced  their  intention  of  accompanying  his  remains  to  the 
grave. 

At  first  the  bishop’s  family  and  household  were  more  alarmed 
than  pleased  by  the  appearance  of  this  martial  band,  but  when 
the  officer  in  command — it  was  the  former  high  sheriff,  Miles 
Mac  Edmund  O'Reilly — entering  the  house,  assured  them  that 
his  men  were  only  desirous  of  doing  honor  to  the  memory  of  the 
lamented  dead,  they  were  all  deeply  touched  by  so  public  an 
expression  of  kindly  sympathy. 

The  Bishop,  too,  joined  the  funeral  cortege,  with  many  of  the 
chief  men  of  the  O’Reillys,  and  although  the  day  was  a stormy 
one  in  the  early  spring,  they  followed  the  honored  remains  even 
to  the  old  diocesan  graveyard  of  Kilmore  where  the  vault  of  his 
predecessors  awaited  him.  And  the  solemn  music  of  the  BrefFny 
minstrels  was  the  dirge  of  the  good  old  prelate,  and  the  clansmen 
of  BrefFny  paced  with  downcast  eyes  and  arms  reversed,  after 
the  mourning  friends  and  relatives,  and  when  the  body  was  laid 
in  the  tomb,  they  insisted  on  firing  a volley  over  it  by  way  of  a 
parting  salute,  for  they  remembered  that  the  good  man  there 
consigned  to  earth  had  shown  himself  their  friend  when  few  of 
his  order  or  profession  would  have  said  a word  or  testified  a 
feeling  in  their  behalf. 

When,  however,  the  vault  was  closed,  and  the  echoing  roll  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


207 


the  musketry  had  died  away  amongst  the  neighboring  hills, 
Miles  O’Reilly  stepped  forward,  and,  filled  with  thoughts  of  what 
had  been  and  what  was  to  be,  he  exclaimed  in  Latin : 

“ May  the  last  of  the  English  rest  in  peace !” 

The  musicians,  catching  his  thought,  struck  up  “ O’Neill’s 
March,”  one  of  the  most  popular  tunes  of  the  day,  and  to  its 
enlivening  notes  they  marched  out  of  the  graveyard  and  resumed 
their  homeward  way,  satisfied  that  they  had  shown  all  proper 
respect  to  the  memory  of  a generous  foe,  yet  elated  with  the 
thought  that  no  other  should  ever  fill  his  office  amongst  them  or 
usurp  the  rights  of  their  lawful  prelates. 

“ He  was  a good  man,”  said  they  one  to  another,  “ for  a Pro- 
testant, but  there’s'  few  of  them  like  him , and,  only  God  to  spare 
us  our  eyesight,  we  never  want  to  lay  eyes  on  a minister  or  a 
bishop  of  his  sort ” 

“ It  will  not  be  our  fault  if  ever  one  of  them  roosts  in  Kilmore, 
anyhow,”  rejoined  another;  “please  the  Lord  their  light  is 
quenched  for  good, — and  it’s  it  was  the  unlucky  light  to  us  ever 
since  it  was  first  lit  at  the  fire  below ! — glory  and  honor  to  Sir 
Phelim,  only  give  him  fair  play. — him  and  the  O’Reilly  and  the 
rest  of  them, — and  they’ll  get  us  back  our  rights,  or  they’ll  know 
for  what !” 

The  spirit  thus  expressed  by  the  clansmen  of  BrefFny,  with  the 
entire,  perhaps  exaggerated  confidence  they  had  in  their  heredi- 
tary leaders,  was  common  amongst  the  lower  classes  of  the  sol- 
diery, but  in  the  minds  of  the  chieftains  and  officers  themselves, 
the  conviction  was  every  hour  gaining  ground  that  their  real 
commander  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance  on  the  scene  of 
action.  But  to  go  back  a little . 

When  Sir  Phelim  was  about  making  his  retreat  from  Drogheda, 
Sham  us  went  to  him  one  evening  with  a face  of  blank  dismay, 
and  told  him  that  the  youth  Angus  was  missing  since  the  pre- 
vious day,  and  was  neither  to  be  found  dead  nor  alive.  Now, 
independent  of  all  personal  considerations,  the  lad’s  services  had 
been  of  such  a nature  since  his  sudden  appearance  amongst  the 
men,  that  even  the  rough  nature  of  Sir  Phelim  was  touched  by 
this  intelligence,  and  he  gave  Shamus  orders  to  take  ten  or  a 
dozen  men  and  make  a strict  search  everywhere  around  the 


208 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


neighborhood.  However  anxious  they  all  were,  for  Angus  was 
a general  favorite,  they  might  have  searched  long  enough  to 
little  purpose,  had  not  some  prisoners  been  taken  that  day  from  a 
foraging  party,  and  from  them  it  was  casually  ascertained  that 
a young  man  answering  to  the  description  of  Angus  had  been 
caught  prowling  around  that  same  old  orchard  which  had  proved 
so  fatal  to  poor  Eman  and  his  party.  He  had  managed  to  get 
in  on  the  occasion  of  a sortie  from  St.  James’s  Gate,  but  refused 
to  confess  what  his  intentions  were. 

Sir  Phelim  and  others  of  the  chieftains  immediately  surmised 
that  the  poor  fellow  had  taken  this  bold  and  venturous  step, 
hoping  that  by  concealing  himself  till  the  fall  of  night,  he  might 
succeed  in  opening  some  gate  or  door  unobserved,  and  thus  to 
introduce  a party  of  his  friends,  who,  warned  by  former  sad  ex- 
perience, might  be  able  to  surprise  the  garrison.  Indeed,  it  was 
found  that  he  had  intimated  some  such  design  to  his  friend 
Shamus  several  days  before,  asking  whether  he  thought  it  at 
all  practicable,  but  Shamus  having,  as  he  thought,  laughed  him 
out  of  such  a boyish  notion,  the  affair  was  no  more  alluded  to 
between  them,  and  Shamus  forgot  all  about  it  until  the  myste- 
rious disappearance  of  Angus  brought  it  again  to  his  mind.  He 
now  bitterly  reproached  himself  for  not  having  acquainted,  some 
of  his  superiors  at  the  time,  with  the  romantic  scheme  which 
now,  in  all  probability,  had  brought  destruction  on  the  brave 
youth. 

Sir  Phelim,  after  some  deliberation,  sent  a herald  with  a flag 
of  truce  to  Sir  Henry  Tichbourne,  proposing  an  exchange  of  pri- 
soners; this,  at  first,  was  refused,  and  O’Neill,  in  his  wrath, 
swore  that  those  in  his  possession,  amounting  to  half  a dozen  or 
so — some  of  them  subaltern  officers — should  be  hung  before  sun- 
set in  sight  of  the  town-walls, 

The  fatal  preparations  were  already  made,  and  the  temporary 
gallows  loomed  up  tall  and  spectral  above  surrounding  objects 
— the  sound  of  funeral  music,  and  the  measured  discharge  of 
musketry  denoted  the  approach  of  the  final  moment,  when  the 
West  Gate  of  the  town  rolled  slowly  back,  and  out  came  a small 
party  of  horse,  the  first  man  bearing  aloft  a white  flag.  On  and 
on  they  came  towards  the  place  prepared  for  the  execution,  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


209 


as  they  drew  near,  the  flag-hearer,  detaching  himself  from  the 
others,  rode  forward  and  announced  that  Sir  Henry  Tichbourne, 
having  thought  better  of  the  matter,  was  willing  to  agree  to  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill’s  proposal  in  regard  to  the  prisoners,  and  had 
sent  his  for  exchange. 

“ Well  for  him  he  did,”  said  the  chieftain  curtly ; “ you  see  our 
patience  has  no  great  stretch,”  and  he  grimly  pointed  to  the 
gaunt,  unsightly  gallows.  “Here  you,  O’Rourkes,  bring  out 
the  Englishers — ha,  Angus,  my  good  lad ! I am  well  content  to 
see  you  again !” 

The  Irish  prisoners  were  now  handed  over,  but  still  there 
seemed  some  delay  in  regard  to  giving  up  the  others.  Sir  Phe- 
lim blustered  and  swore,  and  threatened  punishment — the  prison- 
ers were  delivered  up,  with  one  exception— a young  officer  of 
dark,  forbidding  aspect,  and  a cynical  expression  of  countenance. 
Him  the  Leitrim  men  held  fast,  looking  at  the  same  time  as 
though  no  stretch  of  authority  should  induce  them  to  give 
him  up.  Sir  Phelim’s  ire  began  to  rise,  and  some  of  the  Nor- 
man lords  who  were  present  looked  eagerly  for  the  solution  of 
so  strange  a proceeding.  One  or  two  of  the  Irish  officers  who 
chanced  to  be  near  whispered  to  each  other  a solution  of  the 
enigma. 

“ What  the  fiend  is  this  1”  cried  Sir  Phelim,  angrily;  “ let  the  . 
gentleman  go,  with  the  rest,  ye  stupid  varlets  !” 

“ If  it’s  pleasing  to  you,  Sir  Phelim,  we’d  rather  not,”  said 
Manus  O’Rourke,  stepping  forward  ; “ this  prisoner  is  ours — it 
was  we  of  Breffny-O’Rourke  who  took  him,  and  we  desire  to 
await  our  chiefs  judgment  in  his  regard ” 

“ Who  is  he,  then  V* 

“The  son  and  heir  of  Sir  Frederick  Hamilton,  against  whom 
every  O’Rourke  in  Breffny  has  sworn  revenge.” 

“ Ha  ! Hamilton — I know  !”  The  chieftain  turned  his  scathing 
eye  on  the  young  ensign,  who,  on  his  part,  looked  as  though  he 
thought  his  situation  somewhat  perilous.  Still  he  returned  the 
glance  with  one  of  defiance  rather  than  deprecation. 

“ By  the  soul  of  Heremon,”  said  O’Neill  slowly,  “ but  it  grieveth 
me  to  thwart  you  in  this  thing,  Manus  O’Rourke,  for  that  brood 
of  vipers  were  well  cleared  out  of  your  fair  country,  but  mine 


210 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


honor — our  honor,  Manus,  will  not  permit  us  to  keep  the  strip- 
ling now.” 

“ How  is  that,  Sir  Phelim  ?”  demanded  O’Rourke  sternly. 

“ Why,  because  it  was  from  us  the  offer  of  exchange  came, 
and  we  then  made  no  exception.  Had  I known  in  time  of  this 
Hamilton  being  in  your  hands,  by  my  faith  he  had  gone  to 
Drumahair  for  your  chieftain’s  good  pleasure — now  when  they 
have  sent  all  our  prisoners,  at  our  request,  we  cannot  for  shame 
keep  any  of  theirs  in  custody.  No,  no,  Manus,  it  cannot  be — 
you  will  have  some  other  opportunity — -justice  can  wait — soldiers 
of  Breffny,  I appeal  to  your  honor  in  this  matter,  hoping  that 
you  will  let  this  prisoner  go  with  the  others  !” 

“ It  is  hard,  it  is  very  hard,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,”  said  the  un- 
comprom’sing  Manus,  iC  still  I acknowledge  your  honor  is  at 
stake,  and  I am  sure  there  is  not  an  O’Rourke  here  who  will  hold 
out  against  you !” 

A sullen  murmur  was  heard  amongst  the  men  of  west  Breffny, 
but  still  none  of  them  gainsaid  the  words  of  Manus.  Dark 
was  the  scowl,  however,  with  which  they  regarded  the  son  of 
their  enemy  as  with  a smile,  half  of  contempt,  half  of  triumph, 
he  walked  over  to  the  party  from  town. 

“ Ye  have  done  well,  men  of  Breffny,”  said  Sir  Phelim,  in  a 
husky  voice,  “ and  by  the  sword  of  Nial  it  shall  go  hard  with 
me,  an’  we  bring  not  that  savage  Hamilton  to  justice  ere  the  war 
comes  to  an  end.  If  I aid  ye  not  in  this  matter,  be  my  name 
forgotten  in  the  land  where  my  fathers  ruled  ! * 

A loud  cheer  from  the  O’Rourkes  attested  their  sense  of  Sir 
Phelim’s  kind  dispositions  in  their  regard,  and  as  the  other  clans 
present  caught  up  the  sound  it  rolled  far  away  into  the  distance, 
along  the  level  borders  of  the  Boyne. 

While  O’Neill  turned  to  speak  with  Angus,  who  stood,  cap  in 
hand,  awaiting  speech  of  him,  the  Norman  lords  discoursed 
amongst  themselves  of  the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed, 
and  more  than  one  expressed  his  surprise  at  the  unexpected 
gentleness  displayed  by  the  northern  leader.  The  main  features 
of  the  scene  they  were  at  a loss  to  understand,  till,  having  ap- 
plied to  Manus  O’Rourke,  who  was  a lieutenant  in  their  army, 
for  explanation,  he  gave  them,  with  no  softened  coloring,  an  ac- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


211 


count  of  the  relative  conduct  of  Sir  Frederick  Hamilton  and  the 
O’Rourke  of  BrefFny.  Hearing  this,  the  lords  of  the  Pale  could 
not  help  expressing  their  admiration  of  the  generous  forbearance 
shown  by  the  Clan  O’Rourke  on  this  occasion,  when  revenge  was 
a second  time  in  their  own  hands,  and  even  justice  might  seem 
to  authorize  their  detention  of  their  prisoner. 

But  another  surprise  awaited  these  noblemen,  in  common  with 
the  chieftains,  their  allies.  Angus  Oge  had  a singular  story  to 
tell,  though  his  captivity  had  been  but  of  three  days’  duration, 
and  as  the  night  was  closing  in,  with  storm  and  darkness,  Sir 
Phelim  invited  all  the  officers  present  to  go  to  his  quarters  to 
hear  what  the  youth  had  to  say.  Although  Shamus  had  hitherto 
kept  in  the  background,  he  was  not  out  of  hearing,  and,  slily 
availing  himself  of  his  privileged  position  in  regard  to  his  chief- 
tain, he  glided  info  the  hall  at  Bewly  amongst  the  crowd  of  lords 
and  gentlemen,  and  managed  to  hear  every  word  of  the  story, 
albeit  that  the  narrator,  overcome  with  the  timidity  natural  in 
such  a presence,  told  his  simple  tale  in  low  hesitating  accents, 
and  with  eyes  that  sought  the  ground. 

“ I think  I was  as  near  death  since  I left  here,”  said  Angus, 
“ as  one  could  be  and  escape  it.  There’s  no  more  feeling  in  them 
black-hearted  soldiers  of  Tichbourne’s  than  there  is  in  a whin-stone, 
and  their  general  is  worse  than  any  of  them,  Christ  save  us  ! for 
all  you’d  think  to  hear  him  talk  he  was  a saint  at  the  very  least 
— if  he  was  cutting  your  throat,  or  blowing  your  brains  out,  he’d  be 
discoursing  to  you  of  the  goodness  of  God,  and  the  ways  of  right- 
eousness, so  that  you’d  think  there  was  honey  on  his  lips.  When  I 
was  taken  before  him  in  a condemned  looking  place  they  called  the 
Tholsel,  he  preached  a sermon  to  me  that  Father  O’Hanlon  him- 
self could  hardly  beat,  but  the  last  words  spoiled  all,  for  he  told 
me  that  I was  to  die  that  very  day  as  a spy.  1 And  now,’  said  he, 
knitting  his  black  brows  together,  ‘ now  go  to  the  Lord  Christ, 
and  beg  of  him  to  free  your  mind  from  the  thick  clouds  of 
Popish  darkness.  He  will  illumine  you,  and  if  you  do  but  ask 
Him.  His  light  will  conduct  you  through  the  dark  valley.’  ‘ Why, 
then,’  says  I to  myself,  ‘ 1 wish  you’d  tell  me  something  I didn’t 
know  before.’  Well ! there  I was  Sir  Phelim,  sorrowful  enough 
you  may  be  sure — especially  in  regard  to  having  missed  my 


212 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


mark — and  thinking  that  I must  die  like  a dog  without  benefit 
of  clergy,  and  me  shut  up  there  in  a dark  hole  without  as 
much  as  a glimpse  of  light.  If  it  wasn’t  for  a pair  of  beads  I 
had,  and  that  I made  good  use  of  them,  I don’t  know  what  on 
earth  I would  have  done,  for  I was  falling  into  a kind  of  despair 
with  the  fear  and  the  dread  that  was  on  me — sure  enough  it 
must  have  been  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  that  brought  me 
through,  for  myself  thinks  it  was  a miracle  and  nothing  less.” 

“ Well ! well !”.  said  Sir  Phelim  with  manifest  impatience,  “ how 
was  it,  boy  'l  let  us  hear!” 

“ I will,  Sir  Phelim,  I’m  just  coming  to  it.  The  jailor  was 
just  after  telling  me,  for  my  comfort,  that  all  the  other  Irish 
prisoners  were  to  be  exchanged  only  me,  and  that  I was  to  be 
shot  before  sunset,  when  in  comes  another,  and  says  he,  ‘ no  such 
thing, — the  fellow  has  better  luck  than  honester  folk  ! — his  life 
is  saved  for  this  time ’ 

“ ‘Why,  how  is  that V says  the  jailor,  and,  though  myself 
didn’t  dare  to  open  my  lips,  you  may  be  sure  I was  on  thorns  to 
hear  more.  ‘Well,’  says  the  turnkey  to  the  jailor,  ‘ if  you  were 
guessing  for  ever  you’d  never  light  on  it.  What  do  you 

think  of  Lady coming  herself  to  Sir  Henry  to  ask  pardon 

for  the  varlet  1 — he  said  the  name  in  a whisper  almost,  so  that  I 
couldn’t  hear  it,  and  sorry  enough  I was  for  that  same,  for  the  jailor 
himself  cried  out : ‘ Can  it  be  possible  'l — well ! after  that,  I’ll 
wonder  at  nothing — but  I suppose  Sir  Henry  couldn’t  refuse  her.’ 
‘ So  he  said,’  says  the  turnkey  back  again,  ‘ for  she  asked  it  as  a 
favor  that  she’d  never  forget,  and  Sir  Henry  said  as  it  was  the  first 
she  ever  asked  of  him,  he  couldn’t  refuse  though  he  didn’t  deny 
but  what  it  was  sore  against  his  will  to  spare  the  fellow’s  life.  I 
heard  a whisper  amongst  some  of  the  soldiers,’  says  he  in  a low 
voice,  ‘ that  Sir  Henry  wouldn’t  give  in  so  readily,  only  for  a 
notion  he  has  in  regard  to  her  ladyship’s  daughter — a born 
beauty,  they  say  she  is,  and  old  as  the  general  is,  it  seems  he’s 
looking  out  for  a wife  still.’  At  this  the  two  laughed,  and  the 
jailor  says  winking  at  the  other,  ‘ I see — I see — that’s  all  plain 
enough,  but  what  the  d — 1 put  it  in  the  old  lady’s  head  to  pe- 
tition for  a scurvy  Irish  traitor.’  ” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


213 


“ That  was  just  what  myself  wanted  to  know,”  said  Angus,  “ so 
I got  as  near  as  I could  and  cocked  my  ear  to  listen,  hut  I 
wasn’t  anything  the  wiser,  for  the  other  only  shook  his  head  and 
said  it  was  a mystery  to  him.”  ‘ 

Various  names  were  suggested  by  the  Norman  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen, but  their  guessing  threw  no  light  on  the  subject,  and 
Sir  Phelim  exclaimed  in  a snappish  way  : 

“ We  be  just  as  much  in  the  dark  now  as  we  were  before — is 
that  all  you  can  tell  us  regarding  this  dame  of  quality  V' 

“ Not  so,  Sir  Phelim,”  returned  Angus  with  a smile,  and  he 
glanced  sideways  at  his  friend  Shamus  ; “ before  I left  Drogheda  I 
had  a visit  from  that  same  lady,  a lady  of  noble  presence  she  is, 
too,  and  with  her  was  the  fairest  maiden  these  eyes  ever  beheld.” 
The  arch  youth  paused  and  looked  around,  enjoying,  as  it  were, 
the  surprise  now  depicted  on  every  face,  turning  from  one  to  the 
other  as  their  various  ejaculations  reached  his  ear. 

“Ay,  marry,”  said  he,  “ the  lady  came  to  see  me,  and  she  told 
me  she  felt  herself  much  beholden  to  certain  of  the  Irish  chief- 
tains, and  she  gave  me  a message  for  one  in  particular.” 

“ And  who  might  that  be  I”  demanded  O’Neill. 

“The  0 Rourke  of  Breffny  !” 

“ The  O’Rourke !”  cried  Manus,  stepping  eagerly  forward. 
“ Did  she  say  O’Rourke  1” 

“ She  did,  and  as  your  lord  is  absent,  I may  give  it  to  you,  for 
the  lady  said  I might,  in  such  case,  deliver  her  words  to  any  of 
his  kinsmen.  She  commends  herself  to  Owen  O’Rourke,  and 
sends  him  word  by  me,  with  kind  and  courteous  greeting,  that 
for  his  sake,  and  in  virtue  of  his  request,  she  saved  my  life,  beg- 
ging that  noble  gentleman  to  believe  that  she  holds  his  debt  as 
still  standing,  and  will,  with  God’s  help,  do  much  more  in  pay- 
ment thereof  if  so  be  that  these  troubles  last  much  longer !” 

• “I  know  now  who  it  is,”  said  Manus  O’Rourke, — “ it  is ” 

“Nay,  speak  not  her  name,”  said  Angus  quickly,  “ she  charged 
me  to  keep  it  secret,  from  all  who  knew  it  not  already.” 

“ Humph !”  cried  Sir  Phelim,  “ O’Rourke’s  smooth  face  and 
winning  ways  have  made  an  impression  on  some  soft-hearted 
dowager  of  the  Pale — what  think  ye,  my  lords  I” 


214 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Nay,  I pray  you,  SirPhelim,  do  not  the  noble  lady  injustice,” 
said  Manus  eagerly  ; “ the  bottom  of  this  affair  is  well  known  to 
me,  and  she  were  as  inhuman  as  her  husband — from  whose  hands 
God  save  us  all — did  she  not  feel  grateful  to  Owen  O’Rourke  I” 

“ Well ! well ! have  it  your  own  way,”  said  Sir  Phelim  *,  “ your 
secret  must  be  respected  for  the  present,  we  have  other  matters 
to  think  of  than  ladies’  whims !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


215 


CHAPTER  XVLL. 

11  Those  high-built  hopes  that  crush  us  by  their  fall !” 

Campbell. 

“ The  wise  and  active  conquer  difficulties, 

By  daring  to  attempt  them  ; sloth  and  folly 
Shiver  and  sink  at  sights  of  toil  and  hazard, 

And  make  th’  impossibility  they  fear.” 

Rowe. 

Thus  the  hopes  of  taking  Drogheda  were  for  that  time  aban- 
doned by  the  allied  chieftains,  much  against  the  will  of  the  Nor- 
man lords  who  were  extremely  disconcerted  by  this  unlooked-for 
disappointment  so  soon  after  their  coalition.  The  high  expecta- 
tions with  which  they  had  joined  the  army  before  Drogheda  may 
be  gathered  from  a letter  which  they  addressed,  even  so  late  as 
the  end  of  February,  to  Lord  Clanrickarde.  This  letter  was 
dated  from  “the  Catholic  camp  near  Drogheda,”  and  explicitly 
informed  the  politic  and  time-serving  Marquis  that  the  nobles  of 
the  Pale  had  made  common  cause  with  the  native  Irish. 

“ And  we  now  give  your  lordship  to  understand  that  by  God’s 
assistance  the  work  is,  by  the  help  of  our  neighbors  of  Ulster, 
and  by  our  own  endeavors,  in  a fair  way,  we  having  already  in 
the  field,  about  Dublin  and  Drogheda,  about  12,000  able  men, 
and  more  expected  daily,  for  the  most  part  well  armed ; and  be- 
sides we  can  assure  ourselves  of  the  good  will  and  endeavors  of 
the  rest  of  our  Catholic  countrymen  throughout  the  kingdom.”* 

It  was  painful,  then,  for  these  high-spirited  noblemen,  at 
length  thoroughly  interested  in  the  great  national  movement,  to 
be  obliged  to  retreat  before  the  first  advance  of  Ormond.  Still, 

*Seo  D’ Alton’s  History  of  Drogheda , Yol.  II.,  p.  243* 


216 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


as  they  said,  they  felt  strong  in  the  confidence  that  their  cause 
enlisted  the  sympathies  of  all  the  Catholics  of  the  kingdom  (with 
the  exception,  they  might  have  added,  of  those  under  the  fatal 
control  of  Lord  Clanrickarde  and  such  as  he)  and  that,  in  retiring 
from  the  plains  of  Louth,  they  did  but  bend  for  a season  to  the 
passing  storm.  In  common  with  all  the  native  Irish  they  looked 
eagerly  forward  to  foreign  succor,  and  still  more  confidently  than 
even  their  allies,  they  believed  in  the  secret  sympathy  of  the  king. 
This  last  was  a dream  of  their  own  sanguine  imaginations,  based, 
at  least  then,  on  no  solid  foundation,  yet  to  it  they  clung  as  the 
principal  anchor  of  their  hopes  and  prospects. 

But  although  King  Charles  had  no  real  sympathy  with  the 
heroic  struggles  of  his  Irish  subjects,  there  was  a power  now 
coming  slowly  and  majestically  into  the  field  which  was  worth 
a thousand  times  more  to  them  than  any  influence  the  faithless 
monarch  could  have  exercised. 

The  persecuted  Church  of  Ireland,  subdued  and  spiritless  to 
all  appearance,  and  timorous  in  public  action,  had  as  yet  made 
no  demonstration  in  favor  of  her  gallant  defenders.  Now  this 
apparent  timidity,  or  indifference,  or  whatever  it  might  be  called, 
had  passed  away,  and  a synod  of  the  Bishops  was  held  at  Kells, 
very  soon  after  the  retreat  from  Drogheda,  presided  over  in  per- 
son by  the  patriotic  primate,  Hugh  O’Neill.  Then  and  there  the 
undertaking  of  the  confederates  was  first  pronounced  “just  and 
lawful,”  and  a blessing  solemnly  invoked  on  their  arms. 

The  spirit  which  animated  that  august  assembly  in  the  ancient 
city  of  Columba,  went  forth  within  a few  weeks  to  every  corner 
and  extremity  of  the  kingdom,  infusing  new  life  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  hope  into  hearts  that  were  beginning  to  grow  cold  and 
despondent. 

Messengers,  some  of  them  priests,  were  sent  abroad  to  the 
different  Catholic  countries,  and  Father  Luke  Wadding  was  ho- 
nored with  a special  embassy.  The  Pope  and  his  Catholic  Ma- 
jesty of  Spain,  and  Cardinal  Richelieu,  then  the  ruling  spirit  in 
France,  were  each  notified  of  the  position  of  the  patriot  Catholics 
of  Ireland. 

The  government,  on  the  other  hand,  were'  at  length  aroused 
to  action.  Lord  Ormond  was  sent  northward,  as  we  have  seen, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


217 


■with  orders  to  burn  and  ravage  all  before  him.  Had  the  Earl 
been  allowed  his  own  way  he  would  have  followed  Sir  Phelim’s 
army  into  Ulster,  believing  that,  from  their  almost  total  want  of 
supplies,  they  would  necessarily  afford  an  easy  victory  to  an 
army  such  as  that  which  was  now  at  his  command.  The  Lords 
Justices,  however,  would  not  hear  of  his  venturing  beyond  the 
Boyne,  being  still  governed  by  their  selfish  fears  of  leaving  the 
metropolis  without  sufficient  prbtection.  And  yet  to  all  men  it 
appeared  that  they  might  safely  have  permitted  Ormond  to  carry 
out  his  politic  design,  seeing  that  they  had  made  Sir  Charles 
Coote  governor  of  Dublin,  with  a large  and  efficient  force  at 
his  disposal,  and  that,  under  his  able  superintendence,  the 
defences  of  the  city  had  been  strengthened  in  every  possible 
way. 

When  summoned  back  from  Wicklow  to  take  command  of  the 
garrison  of  Dublin,  Coote  had  encountered  the  warlike  clan  of 
the  O'Tooles,  assembled  to  bar  his  progress  with  such  arms  as 
they  could  collect.  To  almost  any  other  general,  it  would  have 
been  a formidable  sight  to  see  these  bold  mountaineers  ranged  in 
order  of  battle  full  on  his  path  amid  the  wild  fastnesses  of  their 
native  rocks.  But  to  the  ruthless  and  impetuous  Coote  nothing 
presented  any  serious  obstacle — fear  and  pity  were  alike  strangers 
to  his  bosom,  and  unfortunately  his  men  were  chosen  from  thousands 
for  qualities  somewhat  similar  to  his  own,  so  that  fearing  neither 
man  nor  devil,  fire  nor  sword,  they  were  never  known  to  retreat 
before  any  force,  no  matter  how  superior  in  numbers,  and  their 
headlong  charge  was  irresistible  when  their  fiery  old  captain, 
sword  in  hand,  led  them  to  the  attack. 

The  Wicklow  mountaineers,  on  that  memorable  occasion, 

“ fought  like  brave  men  long  and  well,” 

and  many  a hardy  veteran  bit  the  dust  beneath  the  weight  of 
their  vengeful  arms,  but  weapons  and  skill  were  against  them,  and 
that  courage  which  springs  from  desperation,  for,  in  addition  to 
•their  usual  ferocious  valor,  Coote’s  men  were  then  inspired 
by  the  sense  of  imminent  peril.  After  a hard  and  bloody  con- 
test, then,  they  at  last  were  forced  to  give  way,  or  rather  to  open 
a passage  for  the  red-coats,  for  no  account  of  this  affair  says  that 
10a 


218 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


they  retreated,  but  only  that  Coote  and  his  bravos  “ cut  their 
way  through  them.”  Nevertheless,  Sir  Charles  made  his  way 
back  to  Dublin,  and  was  there  duly  installed  in  the  military  gov- 
ernment of  the  capital,  to  the  terror  and  dismay  of  the  Catholic 
inhabitants. 

With  their  precious  persons,  then,  under  the  guardian  care  of 
Coote,  and  the  metropolis  fortified  on  every  side  like  a castle, 
Parsons  and  Borlase  might  have  dispensed  with  the  immediate 
presence  of  Ormond,  but  the  terrific  accounts  of  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill’s  doings  met  them  at  every  turn,  and  filled  their  cowardly 
souls  with  the  meanest  and  most  servile  fears.  Well  knowing 
what  they  deserved  at  the  hands  of  Catholics,  they  could  not 
but  regard  their  armed  bands  as  fierce  avengers,  ready  to  deal 
destruction  on  those  who  had  driven  them  to  rebellion. 

The  news  of  the  coalition  between  the  Catholics  of  the  Pale  and 
/he  native  Irish,  was,  to  outward  appearance,  a most  unwelcome 
•surprise  to  the  Lords  Justices,  but  in  their  hearts  nothing  could 
have  given  them  greater  satisfaction.  Their  first  step  was  a 
key  to  their  feelings  in  this  matter.  No  sooner  did  they  hear  of 
the  rising  of  the  Pale  than  they  wrote  to  the  English  Parliament, 
and  got  an  act  passed  confiscating  two  millions  and  a half  of  the 
estates  of  the  Confederate  Catholics,  and  this  was  shamelessly 
held  out  as  a certain  means  of  remuneration  for  those  who  joined 
in  putting  down  the  rebellion.  No  stronger  inducement  could 
be  offered  than  the  fat  lands  of  the  Pale  Counties,  and  hordes  of 
greedy  adventurers  immediately  flocked  around  the  standard  of 
the  Justices — profuse  in  their  professions  of  loyalty,  but  at  heart 
caring  little  for  any  cause,  except  that  which  afforded  a chance 
of  amending  their  shattered  fortunes. 

Various  rumors  were  at  this  time  afloat  with  regard  to  the 
Catholic  lords  and  gentlemen  of  Munster,  where  a second  Coote, 
Sir  William  St.  Leger  by  name,  was  goading  the  people  on  to 
rebellion  by  the  cruellest  pecuniary  exactions  and  the  fiercest 
religious  persecution.  Like  the  Normans  of  the  Pale,  however, 
with  whom  very  many  of  them  were  closely  connected,  the  Ca- 
tholic gentry  and  nobility  of  the  southern  province  were  loath  to 
relinquish  their  hopes  of  government  favor.  With  the  people  the 
case  was  widely  different — bound  by  no  ties  to  any  particular  party, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


219 


buoyed  up  with  no  delusive  hopes,  and  in  the  actual  endurance  of 
all  manner  of  oppression,  they  were  only  anxious  to  be  led  against 
their  tyrants.  But  their  natural  leaders,  the  Catholic  aristocracy 
of  the  land,  having  little  real  sympathy  with  them,  feared  nothing 
so  much  as  an  outbreak  which  might  possibly  compromise  them 
with  the  Lords  Justices.  The  threatening  attitude  of  the  people 
and  the  unmistakeable  signs  of  revolt  everywhere  becoming  visi- 
ble, excited  the  selfish  fears  of  the  Anglo-Irish  magnates  of  the 
province.  At  the  head  of  these  stood  Lord  Muskerry,  the  lineal 
representative  of  the  great  McCarthys  oi  Desmond,  but  unhap- 
pily, also,  the  brother-in-law  of  the  Earl  of  Ormond. 

Even  as  Gormanstown  and  Fingal  had  been,  was  still  McCarthy 
of  Muskerry — a very  loyal  nobleman,  indeed,  anxious  to  keep 
the  peace  at  any  cost,  and  willing  to  do  anything  and  everything 
rather  than  have  his  fair  domains  go  in  as  a share  of  the  forfeited 
two  and-a-half  millions. 

So,  very  early  in  the  month  of  December,  just  about  the  time 
•when  the  lords  of  the  Pale  were  forming  their  patriotic  alliance 
with  the  Irish  chieftains,  away  posted  Donougli  McCarthy,  with 
quite  a large  number  of  the  first  Catholics  of  Munster,  to  tell  St. 
Leger  how  fearful  they  were  of  the  rebellious  dispositions  of  the 
people.  There  was  no  doubt,  they  said,  that  the  hard  usage  to 
which  they  were  subjected  would  eventually  drive  them  to  take 
up  arms,  if  some  immediate  steps  were  not  taken  to  keep  them 
in  order. 

“ And  what  the  furies  can  I do  ?”  cried  St.  Leger  roughly, 
“ other  than  I do  V* 

“ It  is  true  that  you  are  doing  your  utmost,”  said  Muskerry, 
“ but  not  so  with  others — and  that  is  just  the  object  of  our 
present  visit.  For  my  part,  I am  willing  to  raise  a thousand 
men  and  maintain  them  at  my  own  expense,  if  so  be  that  the 
government  will  give  them  arms.  Others  of  my  friends  here 
present  are  willing  to  do  in  like  manner,  according  to  their 
several  ability,  on  similar  conditions.” 

“ What  fools  you  take  us  to  be,  you  hypocritical  Papists !”  was 
Sir  William’s  answer ; “ do  you  think  we  would  put  arms  in  the 
hands  of  our  deadly  enemies  I” 

“ Enemies !”  repeated  Muskerry,  in  a tone  of  surprise,  only 


220 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


slightly  mingled  with  resentment;  “enemies,  did  you  say ? — 
surely  you  meant  not  the  word,  Sir  William,  and  we  gwing  the 
best  proofs  of  our  loyalty  that  men  can  give  !” 

“ Go  to  the Netherlands !”  cried  St.  Leger,  with  brutal 

vehemence,  “ you’re  all  rebels  at  heart — ay,  every  cursed  traitor 
of  your  crew — go  to ! I’ll  none  of  your  savage  henchmen — send 
them  to  him  of  the  Red  Hand !”  And  so  saying,  he  walked  into 
an  adjoining  cabinet,  slamming  the  door  behind  him,  as  though 
to  signify  his  utter  dislike  and  contempt  of  his  cringing  visitors. 

“ By  the  holy  faith  of  my  fathers  which  these  heretics  perse- 
cute !”  exclaimed  one  of  the  noblemen  present,  with  startling 
energy,  “ I will  do  even  as  he  says — never  again  shall  my  ser- 
vices stink  in  the  nostrils  of  foreign  tyrants,  for,  an’  I send  not 
my  people  to  O’Neill,  they  shall  do  his  work  here  at  home — so 
help  me  the  God  whose  Church  I will  henceforth  serve  and  de- 
fend at  my  life’s  peril.” 

“ Nay,  be  not  so  rash,”  interposed  Muskerry,  seeing  that  most 
of  those  present  appeared  to  be  of  the  same  mind,  “ do  nothing 
hastily ’ 

But  his  words  were  little  heeded  in  the  stern  determination 
which  St.  Leger’s  contemptuous  treatment  had  evoked.  The 
half-slumbering  spirit  of  patriotism,  and  the  growing  sympathy 
with  their  struggling  brethren  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  till 
then  repressed  by  worldly  prudence  and  expediency,  burst  forth 
at  that  moment  bright  and  vigorous,  eager  for  action,  and 
ashamed  of  past  tepidity.  Even  Muskerry  himself  caught  the 
genial  flame,  and  resolved,  at  last,  to  take  the  stand  which 
his  co-religionists  had  a right  to  expect  from  him.  Thencefor- 
ward the  proud  banner  of  the  McCarthys  was  seen  where  it 
ought  to  be,  in  the  van  of  the  Catholic  arr'y  of  Munster,  but, 
unhappily,  the  day  was  far  distant  when  its  rich  folds  waved 
over  victorious  bands. 

In  Connaught,  the  old  heroic  spirit  of  the  native  tribes  awaited 
but  the  spark  to  kindle  it,  and  that  was  not  long  wanting.  In  the 
Archbishop  of  Tuam  of  that  day,  the  Connaught  clans  had  a tower 
of  strength,  for  no  truer  patriot,  no  more  fervent  Christian  than 
Malachy  O’ Kelly,  breathed  Irish  air  at  that  troubled  period. 
His  influence  had  early  roused  the  people  of  Sligo,  and  those 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


221 


parts,  to  follow  the  example  of  their  friends  in  Leitrim,  and  thence 
on  into  Mayo,  Roscommon  and  Galway,  the  healthful  spirit  of 
resistance  to  oppression  made  its  way,  strong  in  the  twofold 
sense  of  right  and  might.  But,  alas ! the  gigantic  shadow  of 
De  Burgo  shed  its  blighting  coldness  over  the  fairest  and  most 
promising  portions  of  Connaught.  Inaccessible  alike  to  religious 
enthusiasm  and  patriotic  ardor,  Clanrickarde,  Catholic  as  he  was, 
continued  all  through  that  long  and  changeful  period  the  firm 
friend,  and  (not  always)  trusted  confidant  of  the  puritanical  faction 
who  held  the  land  and  the  people  in  thrall. 

A cold,  calm,  passionless  man  was  this  (so-called)  great  Earl  of 
Clanrickarde — this  head  of  the  Norman  tribes  of  Connaught — a 
man  whose  sympathies  were  in  every  instance  with  the  oppres- 
sors of  his  country,  and  the  persecutors  of  the  faith  he  professed. 
Never  was  man  more  completely  governed  by  prudence,  more 
entirely  politic  and  worldly-minded  than  Ulick  Burke,  who,  like 
James  Butler,  constituted  one  of  the  great  historical  figures  of 
that  stirring  drama.  Like  Ormond,  too,  Clanrickarde  exercised 
a fatal  influence  on  the  action  of  the  Confederate  Catholics,  but, 
of  the  two,  the  heaviest  load  of  censure  necessarily  falls  on  the 
professing  Catholic  De  Burgo  rather  than  the  renegade  Butler, 
whose  religion  was  after  all  kidnapped  from  him  in  his  childish 
days  ere  yet  his  judgment  could  take  cognizance  of  the  truths 
of  faith. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Clanrickarde,  and  his  deleterious  policy, 
Connaught  alone  would  have  effected  great  things  for  the  national 
cause,  for  even  as  it  was,  deeds  of  heroism,  the  loftiest  and  most 
praiseworthy,  were  achieved  in  various  parts  of  Clanrickarde’s  own 
country,  during  the  really  stirring  times  which  followed,  as  will 
be  seen  in  the  sequel  of  this  story.  Meanwhile  let  us  return  to 
take  a parting  glance  at  the  labors  of  our  principal  leaders. 

In  the  midland  counties  of  Leinster,  the  genius  and  varied 
accomplishments  of  Rory  O’Moore  were  every  day  producing 
great  results.  With  the  Normans  of  the  Pale,  his  influence  was 
great  and  perceptible,  while  his  hold  on  the  native  chieftains  was 
still  as  strong  as  in  the  first  days  of  the  confederacy.  The  senti- 
ment of  “ God,  and  our  Lady,  and  Roger  O’Moore”  still  retained 
• much  of  its  pristine  warmth,  notwithstanding  the  many  reverses, 


222 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  the  grievous  disappointments  already  encountered  by  those 
whom  his  sanguine  spirit  had  at  first  buoyed  up  with  delusive 
hopes. 

Strange  that  with  such  favorable  dispositions  existing  in  every 
part  of  the  kingdom — with  the  English  of  the  Pale — dogged  and 
stern  in  their  resolves  when  once  taken — armed  in  the  cause — 
with  Connaught  and  Munster  stirred  to  their  very  depths,  and 
great  part  of  Ulster  still  in  their  own  hands — with  the  blessing 
of  the  Synod  of  Kells  still  echoing  in  their  ears,  and  fresh  in  all 
men’s  minds — was  it  not  strange  that  just  at  that  particular  junc- 
ture— that  is  to  say,  towards  the  end  of  April, — the  so-lately  con- 
quering army  of  Ulster — or  rather  the  forces  brought  together  by 
the  northern  chieftains — should  be  on  the  very  verge  of  dissolu- 
tion, and  merely  holding  together  as  it  were  on  suffrance,  with 
little  power  for  good  to  friends  or  harm  to  enemies.  The  sturdy 
spirit  of  Sir  Phelim,  even,  had  at  length  given  way  to  the  united 
pressure  of  disappointment,  want  of  necessaries  and  protracted 
failure.  The  unsuccessful  attempt  on  Drogheda  rankled  in  his 
mind  and  depressed  him  more  than  he  would  willingly  acknow- 
ledge— for  his  vanity  had  sustained  a severe  wound  in  being 
obliged  to  retreat  before  Ormond  without  striking  even  a blow, 
after  losing  so  many  weeks  around  the  old  borough. 

It  was  long  before  the  other  northern  chiefs  began  to  imbibe 
Sir  Phelim’s  desponding  spirit — affairs  grew  desperate  indeed 
when  Sir  Con  Magennis,  and  Roderick  Maguire,  and  Art  McMa- 
hon gave  up  hopes  of  success. 

A meeting  was  held  about  the  middle  of  April,  in  one  of  the 
castles  of  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  situated  on  the  borders  of  Lough 
Foyle.  Most  of  the  principal  chiefs  were  present,  and  the  avowed 
object  of  their  deliberations  was  the  best  means  of  extricating 
themselves  from  the  difficulties  of  their  position.  At  first  various 
suggestions  were  made  as  to  the  raising  of  finances  for  carrying 
on  the  war,  some  proposing  one  expedient,  some  another. 

Sir  Phelim  listened  with  ill-concealed  impatience,  turning  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  speakers  with  a lowering  brow  and  a 
flashing  eye  as  he  strode  the  long  hall  to  and  fro,  stopping  ever 
and  anon  to  hear  some  remark  that  struck  him  as  forcible,  or  to 
make  some  curt  reply. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


223 


At  length,  he  turned  short  on  Lorcan  Maguire  who  had  said 
something  about  Owen  Roe  : “ In  God’s  name,”  said  he,  “ let  me 
hear  nothing  of  ‘ our  friends  abroad’ — I am  sick  of  the  very  word. 
They  are  all  over-careful  of  their  own  safety,  take  my  word  for 
it,  to  put  their  necks  in  danger  by  helping  us.  They  are  all  in 
too  good  quarters  where  they  are,  depend  upon  it,  to  come  hither 
in  search  of  poverty  and  hardship.  Know  you,  Lorcan ! the  ex- 
act amount  of  our  resources  at  this  present  moment  while  you  all 
talk  of  Father  Luke  Wadding  and  Owen  Roe,  and  the  people  up 
the  country,  and  such  like  fustian  I Do  you  know,  I say,  any 
of  ye,  what  we  have  of  a certainty  to  count  on  ?” 

One  expressed  total  ignorance  on  the  subject,  another  made  a 
random  guess,  evidently  to  satisfy  the  impatient  chieftain  as  much 
as  anything  else,  while  a third  inquired  to  what  particular  sup- 
plies he  had  reference. 

“ To  what  particular  one,”  cried  Sir  Phelim,  in  a tone  half 
fierce,  half  derisive  ; “ why,  they  be  all  about  on  a par  with  us. 
Take,  for  instance,  our  ammunition — ha ! ha ! ha ! Of  a surety, 
your  Catholic  powers  and  1 our  countrymen  abroad’  have  done 
well  for  us  in  regard  to  that  article — we  have  just  a little  more 
than  one  keg  of  powder  remaining,  so  judge  how  far  that  would 
go  against  a regular  army  well  supplied  with  all  things  needful. 
By  mine  honor,  an’  we  ever  take  up  arms  again  in  this  quarrel, 
they  must  needs  give  us  something  else  besides  fair  promises, 
which,  though  very  soothing  to  the  ear,  will  do  little  in  the  way  of 
making  head  against  a powerful  enemy.” 

“What  is  to  be  done,  then?’  demanded  McMahon;  “are  we 
to  stay  here  quietly  awaiting  the  day  when  Ormond  or  perchance 
Coote  will  be  sent  to  visit  us  on  our  hearthstones  ?” 

“Not  so,”  said  Sir  Phelim ; “ rather  than  fall  into  the  hands 
of  either — even  the  smooth-tongued  Butler — I would  hide  my 
head  beneath  yonder  stream.” 

“Shame,  shame,  Sir  Phelim!”  cried  Magennis  warmly;  “let 
no  man  hear  such  despairing  words — all  unmeet  for  warrior’s 
tongue  to  utter,  much  less  a Christian.” 

“You  who  are  both  a warrior  and  a Christian,  Con,”  said 
0 Neill  with  sneering  emphasis ; “ do  you  propose  remaining  here 
to  await  a lucky  turn  in  our  affairs — help,  for  instance,  from 
abroad  1” 


224 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Magennis  shook  his  head  sadly.  “ Heaven  direct  us  for  the 
best !”  said  he,  “it  is  a hard  alternative,  but  I fear  we  must 
e’en  seek  some  place  of  safety.” 

“Just  so,”  cried  Sir  Phelim  exultingly,  while  his  brother  Tir- 
logh  laughed  outright;  “ my  notion  is  that  we  needs  must  place 
the  sea  between  us  and  the  bloodhounds  who  will  speedily  be  out 
on  our  track.” 

“ Sir  Plielim!”-  said  Roderick  Maguire  in  a reproachful  tone, 
“ bethink  you  what  you  say !” 

“ I do,  Rory,  I do,  and,  before  Heaven,  it  grieves  my  heart  to 
speak  in  such  wise,  but  what  can  we  do,  man ! what  can  we  do  'l 
Bethink  you  of  our  only  keg  of  powder,  our  empty  coffers,  and 
our  just  as  empty  commissariat !” 

Slowly  and  reluctantty,  and  with  many  a heart-rending  sigh,  the 
necessity  of  flight  was  generally  admitted — at  least  until  such  times 
as  the  affairs  of  the  insurgents  assumed  a more  prosperous  aspect 
— and  even  the  sternest  and  bravest  of  the  chiefs  could  no  longer 
find  any  reasonable  protest  to  enter  against  such  a step.  With 
heavy  hearts  and  downcast  eyes  they  were  about  to  separate, 
sadly  thinking  that  God  only  knew  under  what  circumstances 
they  might  meet  again,  or  if  they  ever  should. 

All  at  once  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  in  rushed  the  youth 
Angus,  closely  followed  by  Shamus  Beg,  the  latter  evidently 
remonstrating  with  his  friend  on  the  imprudent  step  he  was  tak- 
ing. After  them  stepped  softly  in  a third  individual,  a dark,  silent 
young  man,  a soldier  in  O’Hanlon's  company,  between  whom  and 
Shamus  an  extraordinary  friendship  had  been  observed  to 
exist  from  an  early  period  of  their  military  connection.  This 
young  man  was  named  Donough,  and  his  influence  over  the  fiery 
clansman  of  Tyrone  was  by  all  remarked,  but,  like  Angus  Dhu, 
nothing  more  was  known  as  to  who  he  was,  or  whence  he  came. 

On  this  occasion  both  Shamus  and  Donough  seemed  to  be 
solely  intent  on  restraining  Angus  within  the  bounds  of  prudence 
and  decorum,  but  the  youth,  evidently  laboring  under  some 
strange  excitement,  broke  from  their  grasp  and  burst  upon  the 
astonished  chieftains  like  some  wild  and  beautiful  vision. 

“Sir  Phelim  O’Neill!”  he  cried,  in  Irish,  the  tartan  on  his 
breast  heaving  tumultuously  with  the  force  of  his  agitation,  “ is 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  225 

it  true  what  I hear  that  the  chiefs  of  Ulladh  are  giving  up  God’s 
holy  cause — the  righteous  cause  of  justice  and  revenge — giving 
it  up  like  old  callioghs  at  the  very  first  back-set  that  comes  on 
them.  Is  it  true,  Sir  Phelim ! or  is  it  not  I” 

“Angus!  Angus!”  whispered  Shamus,  “ for  your  life  do  not 
speak  so ! He  will  hang  you  as  sure  as  death ! — oh  Angus ! 
what’s  come  over  you  V ’ 

“ Let  me  alone,  Shamus,”  cried  the  excited  youth,  struggling  to 
free  himself  from  the  other’s  friendly  grasp,  “he  must  and 
shall  answer  my  question,  for  it  is  the  voice  of  God  /” 

There  was  the  fire  of  inspiration  in  his  dark  gleaming  eyes, 
and  his  last  words  sounded  strangely  in  the  ears  of  the  chieftains, 
most  of  whom  were  strongly  susceptible  of  religious  feeling. 
Even  Sir  Phelim,  although  less  under  the  control  of  religion  than 
many  of  the  others,  felt  a strange  emotion  stirring  within  him  at 
these  singular  words. 

“ Angus !”  said  he  coming  forward,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the 
youth’s  shoulder,  “ Angus,  we  cannot  do  otherwise — we  have  no 
means  of  continuing  the  war  !” 

“ Say  not  so,”  cried  Angus  Dhu  in  a solemn  tone  ; " the  God  for 
whom  you  do  battle  does  but  try  your  faith — the  help  so  long 
delayed  is  even  now  at  hand,  and  you  will  live  to  drive  the 
enemy  before  you  as  chaff  before  the  wind — fly  not — desert  not 
your  post,  as  you  fear  the  wrath  of  God — dare  not  one  of  you 
cross  the  water,  at  this  time,  for,  an’  you  do,  the  land  of  Erin 
you  shall  never  see  again.  Courage,  chiefs  of  the  Gael ! this  is 
the  darkest  hour,  but  the  dawn  is  close  at  hand,  and  a day  of 
glory  and  of  brightness  is  rising  over  the  mountains !”  So  saying, 
he  turned  and  darted  from  the  room,  followed  by  his  two  friends 
silent  and  abashed.  Strange  to  say,  his  words  decided  the  chief- 
tains to  remain  in  the  country  and  await  the  merciful  designs  of 
God  in  their  favor.  The  result  wil  be  seen  in  our  second  part, 
when  we  hope  to  lay  before  the  reader  scenes  and  characters 
entirely  new,  yet  still  bearing  on  the  fortunes  of  our  “ Confeder- 
ate Chieftains,”  and  the  glorious  work  to  which  so  many  years 
of  their  lives  were  devoted. 


10* 


END  OF  THE  FIRST  PART. 


THE 


CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

“ A combination  and  a form  indeed, 

Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a man.” 

Shakespeare. 

The  burning  sun  of  a July  day  was  some  hours’  journey  down 
the  western  sky,  and  the  shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen 
on  moor  and  meadow  in  a pastoral  district  of  Donegal  County, 
where  the  country  assumes  a less  rugged  aspect,  and  the  moun- 
tains. recede  on  either  hand,  leaving  only  a broken  and  undulat- 
ing surface  to  mark  their  vicinity.  In  other  years  this  so  pic- 
turesque region,  naturally  one  of  great  fertility,  would  have  been 
clothed  at  that  season  with  the  golden  gifts  of  Ceres  awaiting 
the  reaper’s  sickle,  and  the  numerous  orchards  which  nestled 
away  amongst  its  sunny  knolls  and  swelling  hills  would  have 
groaned  beneath  the  weight  of  heavily-laden  branches,  but  now 
nor  waving  crop,  nor  fruit,  nor  flower,  graced  the  scene,  for 
war’s  desolating  footprints  were  everywhere  visible,  and  the 
country,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was  a dreary,  dreary  waste. 
The  labors  of  man  were  nowhere  visible,  save  where  shattered 
walls,  and  garden  flowers  run  wild,  and  shrubs  and  fruit-trees 


4 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


bent  and  broken,  gave  evidence  of  former  cultivation.  Man  had 
been  there,  for  his  works  were  there  in  ruins,  but  man  was  there 
no  longer,  and  after  even  a cursory  glance,  the  traveller — they 
were  then  passing  few — came  to  the  sorrowful  conclusion  that 
the  fair  scene  was  a savage  solitude,  lifeless  and  voiceless  all. 
Even  the  road  which  wound  in  a sort  of  serpentine  fashion  over 
and  around  the  hills  and  hillocks  was  now  so  blocked  up  with 
accumulated  rubbish,  so  broken  and  indented  with  deep  ruts  as 
to  be  hardly  passable,  especially  for  strangers. 

And  strangers  they  must  have  been,  for  all  their  Irish  costume, 
the  two  gentlemen  who,  mounted  on  the  small,  shaggy  ponies 
for  which  that  region  was  then  as  now  remarkable,*  were  slowly 
and  with  difficulty  making  their  way  through  the  momentarily- 
recurring  obstacles  which  impeded  their  course.  Both  were  ar- 
rayed in  the  picturesque  costume  of  the  native  chiefs,  with  the 
single  exception  that  the  barradh  was  replaced  by  a Spanish 
hat,  without  feathers,  descending  in  a point  over  the  brows. 
The  cloak,  which,  as  an  indispensable  part  of  the  national  cos- 
tume, each  wore,  was  of  the  shortest  and  lightest,  so  that  even 
the  faint  summer  breeze  lifted  their  folds,  and  left  the  richly- 
ornamented  jackets  and  embroidered  leathern  girdles  of  the 
travellers  full  in  view,  with  forms  which,  though  cast  in  far  dif- 
ferent moulds,  were  both  graceful  in  their  symmetry,  and  indi- 
cative of  much  personal  strength.  The  one  who  rode  foremost 
was  a man  of  some  five-and-thirty  years,  or  thereabouts,  tall 
and  commanding  in  stature,  and  of  rather  grave  aspect,  albeit 
that  his  fresh  and  somewhat  florid  complexion,  with  the  spark- 
ling light  of  his  clear  blue  eyes,  gave  a character  of  youthful 
buoyancy  to  a face  otherwise  calm  and  composed  in  all  its 
lineaments.  There  was  the  slightest  possible  stiffness  about  the 
whole  face  and  figure,  though  the  one  was  singularly  prepos- 
sessing, if  not  handsome,  and  the  other  was,  as  I have  said, 
both  graceful  and  athletic.  Take  him  altogether,  and  he  gave 
you  the  idea  of  a man  who  had  battled  with  the  world,  and  had 
come  victorious  from  the  struggle ; a man  of  earnest  purpose,  and 

* I presume  there  are  few  of  my  Irish  readers  who  have  not  seen, 
or  at  least  heard  of,  the  Oushendall  ponies. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


5 


stern  resolve,  yet  full  of  the  kindliest  and  most  generous  sym- 
pathies, lofty  and  pure  in  his  aspirations,  and  having  all  his  facul- 
ties under  habitual  control.  His  companion  was  a younger,  and, 
perhaps,  a more  attractive  individual,  with  a slashing,  dashing, 
soldierly  air,  and  a dark  handsome  set  of  features  illumined 
by  a pair  of  brilliant  black  eyes,  so  wild,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so 
piercing  that  you  shrank  from  meeting  their  searching  glance. 
Yet  was  there  an  air  of  such  carelesss  gaiety  about  the  jauntily- 
attired  youth  that  you  loved  to  look  on  him,  you  knew  not  why, 
and  as  you  looked,  you  would  perchance  say  within  yourself 
that  he  reminded  one  of  the  more  warlike  troubadours  of  old 
Provence,  or  of  the  ambitious  striplings,  half  boy,  half  man,  who, 
in  chivalrous  times,  were  wont  either 

“ To  follow  to  the  field  some  warlike  lord, 

Or  tune  the  lute  iu  gentle  lady’s  bower.” 

And  truly  the  elder  of  these  cavaliers  might  well  have  been  a 
“ warlike  lord,”  but  nor  page  nor  squire  ever  bore  him  with 
such  lightsome  air  in  his  master’s  company  as  did  that  hand- 
some youth  so  richly  attired  withal,  and  so  gracefully  gay  in 
word  and  mien. 

Yet  graceful  and  captivating  though  he  was,  the  younger  gen- 
tleman seemed  under  a certain  restraint  in  the  garments  which 
at  first  sight  so  well  became  him,  and  as  he  glanced  occasionally 
at  the  truis  and  hose,  and  the  somewhat  clumsy  buskins  which 
encased  his  lower  limbs,  a smile  of  mischievous  meaning  curled 
his  thin  lip. 

The  two  had  been  discoursing,  as  well  as  the  frequent  inter- 
ruptions of  the  toilsome  road  permitted,  and  their  theme  was  the 
all-engrossing  one  of  the  strangely-cbmplicated  position  of  par- 
ties in  the  hapless  land  of  the  Gael,  as  the  elder  cavalier  patheti- 
cally called  green  Erin.  They  both  spoke  in  the  Irish  tongue, 
the  younger  with  the  ease  and  fluency  of  a native,  the  elder  with 
a sort  of  hesitation  and  a slightly  foreign  accent,  which  told  of  a 
protracted  sojourn  in  other  climes  where  the  language  of  Ireland 
was  seldom,  if  ever,  spoken.  Good  friends  the  two  seemed  to 
be,  however,  and  a perfect  understanding  appeared  to  exist 


6 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


between  them,  judging  by  the  cordial  warmth  with  which  they 
concurred  in  judging  “men  and  measures.”  It  was  only  at 
intervals  and  by  brief  snatches  that  they  could  carry  on  their 
conversation,  but  when  a smooth  patch  of  road  made  itself  visible, 
they  eagerly  availed  themselves  of  it  to  journey  side  by  side  and 
resume  the  thread  of  discourse  so  often  broken. 

“ Then,  by  your  showing,”  said  the  elder  gentleman,  as  the 
other  gained  his  side,  after  leaping  his  nag  fairly  over  a pile  of 
rubbish,  “ by  your  showing,  gentle  sir,  the  affairs  ot  the  Ca- 
tholic party  are  not  altogether  desperate  as  yet.” 

“ Desperate  did  you  say  V ’ cried  the  young  cavalier  impa- 
tiently, “I  tell  you  no.  So  far,  we  have  held  our  own — ay! 
marry,  and  more  than  that,  balancing  our  loss  and  gain  ono 
against  the  other.  Of  a surety,  those  of  the  government  faction 
— to  wit,  the  secret  abettors  of  the  Parliament  of  England  in  this 
country — are  in  worse  plight  than  we,  and  have  less  to  boast  of, 
and  as  for  the  king’s  party,  of  which  I wofild  fain  speak  in 
friendly  terms,  did  truth  allow  (which  woe  is  me  ! it  doth  not), 
as  for  them,  their  success,  up  to  this  time,  is,  as  it  were,  a house 
of  glass,  which  one  stroke  of  ours  would  shiver  to  atoms.  Had 
we  but  cannon  and  field  pieces  in  any  adequate  number,  we 
could  bring  even  the  proud  B utler  to  his  knee  with  marvellous 
quickness.  You  smile,  sir  stranger,  but  I tell  you  truly  : Ormond 
could  not  stand  before  us  bad  we  but  the  things  I mentioned.” 

“ Nay,  I know  not  that,”  said  the  tall  stranger  with  grave 
emphasis,  “ I fear  me  much  that  you  both  underrate  my  lord  of 
Ormond’s  talents,  skill  in  war-craft,  and  the  resources  which  he 
has  at  command.  Moreover,  there  be  others  of  the  royal  gene- 
rals men  of  mark,  and  not  unknown  to  fame.  I have  heard  that 
Stewart  and  Montgomery  have  done  wonders  here  in  the  north, 
with  far  inferior  forces,  against  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  and  his  entire 
strength,  while  in  the  other  province  Coote  and  Ormond  carried 
all  before  them,  and  every  passing  day,  it  would  seem, 
strengthens  the  hands  of  our  enemies ; where  in  the  onset  we 
had  but  the  two  generals  last  named  to  dread,  we  have  now 
many  commanders  of  note  to  encounter.  Inchiquin  and  Vava- 
sour and  Broghill,  not  to  speak  of  others  of  lesser  note,  are 
a powerful  strength  to  the  enemy ” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


7 


“And  what  of  that!”  cried  the  other  sharply ; “ if  you  come  - 
to  speak  of  generals,  we  have  those  who  need  not  fear  to  stand 
before  the  best  of  them.  Think  you,  noble  sir,  that  we  have  not 
gained  of  late  even  greater  accessions  of  strength.  A host  of 
noble  and  distinguished  names  already  adorn  our  muster-roll, 
and  for  every  one  they  can  boast,  we  can  number  ten.” 

The  stranger  shook  his  head  sadly.  “ It  is  well,”  said  he,  “ it 
is  very  well  to  see  the  noble  and  the  brave  enrolling  themselves 
beneath  the  national  standard,  but  of  all  those  lords  and  honora- 
ble gentlemen,  what  one  is  known  to  fame  by  feats  of  arms  or 
military  skill  % What  have  they  done  as  yet,  even  in  this  matter, 
to  give  us  hope  of  future  success  V‘ 

“ Much— much  have  they  done,”  cried  the  young  man  eagerly  ; 
“ were  it  not  that  you  were  a stranger  in  the  country  I would 
marvel  at  your  asking  a question  so  insulting  to  the  brave  men 
who  have  many  times  of  late  led  the  people  on  to  victory — ay  ! 
and  men  of  the  Norman  blood,  too,  for  all  the  native  chiefs  were 
wont  to  deem  them  over-cold  and  indifferent !” 

“Humph!”  said  the  other,  affecting  an  incredulity  which  he 
did  not  feel,  “I  should  like  to  hear  somewhat  of  these  great 
achievements.  Perchance  the  late  battle  of  Kilrush,  by  some 
strange  optical  delusion,  is  set  down  by  you  hot-headed  young- 
sters as  a victory ! — of  that  affair  I have  indeed  heard,  and  my 
cheek  burned  as  I listened.  I was  assured  by  those  whose  word 
I could  not  doubt,  that  Lord  Ormond,  with  a force  of  barely 
three  thousand  men,  put  Lord  Mountgarret  and  Rory  O’More  to 
flight  at  the  pass  of  Mageny,  with  an  army  of  eight  thousand. 
Call  you  that  a victory,  young  sir 

“Twit  us  not  with  that  disastrous  affair,  I pray  you,”  said  the 
young  cavalier  with  undisguised  emotion ; “on  that  unhappy 
day  we  lost  full  many  a brave  comrade,  some  even  of  high  stand- 
ing amongst  us,  but  as  God  liveth,  sir  stranger,  it  was  no  fault 
of  our  commanders,  but  was  owing  entirely  to  the  want  of  pro- 
per discipline  in  our  forces,  with  the  old  complaint  of  little  or 
no  artillery.  I tell  you  our  generals  did  what  men  could  to 
arrest  the  course  of  victory,  but,  alas ! the  veteran,  and  well- 
trained  soldiers  of  Ormond  and  Tichborne,  armed  at  all  points, 
were  more  than  a match  for  our  poor  fellows,  all  unused  to  war 


8 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


as  they  were,  and  badly  provided  even  with  hand-arms.  The 
fates  would  have  it  as  it  was,  and  we  had  only  to  give  in  for  the 
time,  but  with  God’s  good  aid,  the  stain  of  that  day  shall  not 
long  rest  upon  our  name — we  shall  not  always  be  as  bare  as  we 
now  are  in  regard  to  the  munitions  of  war.  My  word  for  it, 
Kory  O’More,  were  there  none  other,  will  see  that  the  disgrace 
which  befel  us  at  Mageny  be  redeemed  to  our  country’s  credit.” 

“ Now  that  you  speak  of  him,”  said  the  elder  gentleman, 
**  know  you  where  speech  might  be  had  of  him  '?  He  escaped 
unhurt,  I am  told,  from  that  famous  battle” — this  was  said  with 
a good-humored  smile — “ but  can  you  tell  me  what  he  has  been 
doing  since]  Surely,  so  much  talent,  and  so  many  good  parts, 
together  with  so  much  patriotism,  cannot  lie  rusting  in  idleness 
at  a time  like  this  V* 

“ Wrong  not  O’More  so  far  as  to  suppose  it,”  said  the  youth 
with  generous  warmth,  as,  having  paced  his  little  steed  carefully 
through  the  scattered  fragments  of  a garden-wall  which  had 
fallen  outward  on  the  road,  he  once  more  took  his  station  along- 
side of  his  companion ; “ Rory  hath  not  been  seen  in  public  since 
that  disastrous  day,  but  he  is  not  the  man  to  give  up  a cause  so 
lightly,  and  I warrant  me  he  is  working:  like  a mole  under  the 
feet  of  our  opponents.  Silently  and  steadily  O’More  does  his 
work,  and  to  him,  under  God,  is  due  the  vast  organization  which 
even  now  embraces  great  part  of  the  island.  Many  and  many 
a Norman  noble,  now  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  our  interests, 
would  never  have  perilled  life  or  fortune  in  the  cause,  were  it 
not  for  that  same  Rory  O’More  of  whom  your  words,  and  still 
more,  your  sneering  tone,  imply  some  doubt !” 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  tall  stranger  suppressed  a smile, 
as  certain  memories  from  the  past  floated  up  to  the  surface  of 
his  mind,  but  whatever  his  thoughts  might  have  been,  he  chose 
to  keep  them  to  himself,  saying  only  that  he  was  glad  to  hear 
O’More  had  done  so  much. 

“ But  I pray  you,  tell  me,  good  youth,”  he  said  quickly,  a3  if 
to  change  the  subject,  “ what  has  been  achieved  by  these  com- 
manders of  whom  you  speak  ] Drogheda  I have  heard  of,  and 
Cork,  Kilrush  in  like  manner,  ay ! and  the  re-capture  of  many  a 
northern  stronghold  by  the  royal  generals,  in  so  far  that  poor 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


9 


Phelim  Roe — excuse  me,”  seeing  that  the  other  looked  surprised 
— “ I mean  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill — and  his  brother-chieftains  here  in 
Ulster  are  all  but  in  despair  — failure,  to  speak  in  serious  mood, 
I have  heard  much  of — but  of  success — at  least  to  any  extent — I 
have  yet  to  hear!” 

“ By  the  rood,  sir  stranger,”  cried  the  youth  impetuously,  “ I 
know  not  what  to  think  of  you.  Where  have  you  been  that  the 
• echo  of  our  joyful  shouts  reached  not  your  ear  when  Mountgar- 
ret  took  Kilkenny,  and  his  brave  son,  Edmund  Butler,  compelled 
Waterford  to  open  its  gates  to  him'?  Perchance  you  have  not 
heard,  either,  how  Limerick  hath  been  taken  for  us  by  Lord 

Muskerry  and  Lord  Skerrin ” 

“ Thank  Heaven  !”  muttered  the  stranger,  “ the  McCarthy  spi- 
rit is  at  last  aroused — it  was  well  nigh  time — but,”  raising  his 
voice,  “ what  boots  the  taking  of  a few  cities,  when  all  the  open 
country  is  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  What  though  Waterford 
and  Limerick  be  ours,  when  St.  Leger  lords  it  still  over  that 
province ” 

“ I cry  you  mercy,  noble  sir,  he  lords  it  no  longer ” 

“ How  1 — what  mean  you  ?” 

“ I mean  that  the  old  firebrand  is  gone  some  weeks  ago  on  a 

voyage  to  the  other  world ” 

“ Bead,  say  you?  is  Sir  William  St.  Leger,  then,  dead! ” 

“ Ay ! dead  as  a door-nail !” 

An  exclamation  of  pleasure  was  on  the  stranger’s  lips,  but  sup- 
pressing it,  he  asked  very  quietly  : “ Was  he  slain  or  what  ?” 

“ Not  he, — -no  arm  of  ours  was  so  lucky  as  to  execute  ven- 
geance on  him — he  died  of — of  Limerick  /” 

“How  ? — what? — he  died  of  Limerick — what  manner  of 
disease  may  that  be  ?” 

“Ha!  ha!  ha!”  laughed  the  arch  youngster,  exulting  in  the 
thought  that  he  had  said  a good  thing,  “ I see  even  travelled 
beaux  may  be  puzzled  at  times  by  a simple  word.  St.  Leger  died 
of  Limerick  just  as  Queen  Mary  is  said  by  the  scribes  to  have  died 
of  Calais — the  old  blood-sucker  took  its  loss  so  much  to  heart — 
coming  in  the  rear  of  ever  so  many  other  mishaps,  that  his  heart 
broke — or  at  least  what  served  him  for  a heart — it  was  red-hot 


10 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


iron,  I rather  think, — and  off  he  went — to  join  Pluto’s  court  be- 
low, most  likely !” 

“For  shame,  young  sir,”  said  his  graver  companion,  “such 
manner  of  speech  befits  not  such  a theme — death  is  ever  a 
solemn  subject,  and  mortal  man  may  not  judge  his  fellow — 
even  though  he  be— a St.  Leger.  If  the  man  be  gone  to  his 
account,  leave  him  to  the  Sovereign  Judge  of  all.  How  stands 
the  king  affected,  that  is,  what  do  our  friends  here  believe  the 
royal  mind  to  be  V’ 

“ The  royal  mind,  quotha!  By  the  mass,  if  there  be  a royal 
mind,  it  is  so  enveloped  in  coatings  of  divers  kinds  that  the  art 
of  man  may  not  penetrate  its  manifold  disguise.  Still  there  are 
amongst  us  men  who,  deeming  themselves  wondrous  wise,  do  pre- 
tend to  fathom  that  same  royal  mind,  ay,  marry  ! and  to  see  amid 
its  tortuous  windings  a secret  sympathy  with  our  endeavors.  For 
myself,  I have  no  faith  in  any  such  leaning  of  the  king’s  majesty 
towards  us,  albeit  that  Sir  Phelim  here  in  the  north,  and  Lord 
Muskerry  in  the  south,*  do  profess  to  hold  commissions  from 
him ” 

“ What  say  you  1 — commissions  from  the  king  !— can  it  be  that 
so  wily  a prince  so  far  committed  himself,  at  a time  when  his 
enemies,  the  Puritans  and  Parliamentarians,  had  him  encom 
passed  round  about  1” 

“ I tell  you,  sir  cavalier,”  said  the  young  man  earnestly, 
“ there  is  not  a Puritan  of  them  all  who  has  less  liking  for  us  at 
bottom  than  his  grace’s  majesty.  Why,  it  was  but  the  other  day, 
as  one  might  say,  that,  in  his  cringing  address  to  the  Parliament 

* Warner  tells  a curious  story,  which  I have  never  seen  referred  to 
by  any  writer,  to  the  effect  that  Lord  Muskerry  sent  to  Sir  William  St. 
Leger  by  Mr.  Walsh,  an  eminent  lawyer  of  the  national  party,  a 
commission  from  the  king  duly  stamped  with  the  great  seal,  author- 
izing him  to  collect  forces,  and  to  do  whatever  seemed  expedient  to 
him,  in  support  of  the  Catholic  cause,  thus  identified  with  the  cause 
of  royalty.  Warner  goes  on  to  say  that  St.  Leger  was  so  convinced 
of  the  authenticity  of  this  document,  that  for  that  time  he  drew  off 
his  forces  and  left  Muskerry  at  liberty  to  follow  out  his  plans.  War- 
ner’s Civil  Wars , Book  III.,  p.  189. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


11 


of  England,  he  demanded  supplies  to  equip  an  army  which  he 
meant  to  lead  himself  into  Ireland  to  punish  his  ‘ seditious  Popish 
subjects.’  Ha ! ha ! good  for  him  that  the  Parliament  refused 
to  trust  him.  Neither  men,  money  nor  arms  would  they  give  him, 
so  that  he  was  fain  to  stay  at  home  and  leave  others  to  chastise 
‘ the  pestilent  Irish  rebels another  pet  phrase  of  his  when  dis- 
coursing of  us.  Nay,  nay,  never  tell  me  of  King  Charles  being 
our  secret  friend.  I question  if  even  his  queen,  Catholic  though 
she  be,  has  much  interest  in  our  struggle,  apart  from  its  bearing 
on  the  position  of  her  husband.  Even  Lord  Gormanstown  him- 
self had,  to  my  knowledge,  conformed  to  that  way  of  thinking 

before  his  death — slowly  and  unwillingly  he  came  to  own  it ” 

“ Before  his  death !”  repeated  the  stranger,  with  a start ; “ is 
Gormanstown  then  dead 

“ Dead ! ay,  marry,  is  he,”  replied  the  youth  s#dly,  “ he  had 
staked  all  on  the  success  of  our  cause,  and  his  heart  was  fixed 
on  the  re-establishment  of  order  and  religion  in  this  distracted 
land,  but  his  hopes  were  too  sanguine,  and  the  brief  series  of 
disasters  which  followed  the  discomfiture  at  Drogheda,  weighed 
down  his  heart  with  a load  of  sorrow  which  speedily  brought  him 
to  the  grave.  Alas ! yes  ! Gormanstown  is  gone  from  amongst 
us,  and  sorely  do  we  miss  him  at  the  council-table,  ay  ! and  in  the 
field,  for,  with  the  weight  of  fifty  years  upon  him,  he  was  still 
stout  and  active.  But  his  prudence  and  his  caution  are  our 
heaviest  loss  ! God  rest  his  soul  in  peace  !” 

“ Amen !”  said  the  other  with  solemn  fervor,  and  both  raised 
their  hats  from  their  brows,  and  then  rode  silently  on  for  a short 
space,  as  though  each  were  pursuing  some  train  of  thought  sug- 
gested by  the  sad  announcement  just  made. 

“ Heaven  help  us !”  said  the  elder  traveller  at  length,  and  he 
heaved  a sigh  ; “ what  mournful  traces  doth  not  war  leave  behind 
- it — ay ! even  on  the  soil ! Truly  this  is  a dreary  road  to  travel — 
God  forbid  there  be  many  such  in  Ulster !” 

“ And  yet  this  is  Phelim’s  work !”  said  the  younger  gentleman ; 
“ he  vowed  to  have  revenge  for  Island  Magee,  and,  by  St.  Bren- 
dan ! he  hath  kept  his  word — the  enemy  hath  not  had  all  the 
slaughtering  to  himself,  I promise  you,  for  all  that  the  chieftains 
who  commenced  the  work  of  revolution  had  no  mind  to  shed 


12 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


blood — it  was  the  hardest  necessity  that  drove  them  to  it.  But 
one  thing  is  certain,  to  wit,  that  the  worst  doings  of  our  Ulster 
chiefs — even  the  fierce  Phelim  himself — do  not  equal  in  atrocity 
the  cruelties  exercised  by  some  of  the  royal — or  rather  the  Pu- 
ritan captains ” 

“ Ay,  marry,”  said  the  other,  turning  quickly  in  his  saddle, 
“ all  Europe  rings  with  the  monstrous  deeds  of  Coote  and  his 
colleagues ” 

“ Ha,  the  hell-hound,  his  name  was  as  a spell- word  of  evil  from 
which  our  bravest  shrank  in  terror.  I warrant  me,  the  vault  of 
hell  re-echoes  with  the  sound  at  this  hour — he  has  fallen  under 
the  lash  himself — ay ! hath  he,  and  of  a surety,  the  infernal  tor- 
turers have  a long  score  to  reckon  with  him — Christ  save  us! 
what  a cloud!”  and  he  pointed  to  a mass  of  dense  black  vapor 
which  had  been  gradually  gathering  overhead  and  extending  its 
wings  like  some  huge  bird  of  prey,  until  the  sun  itself  was 
obscured,  and  seemed  suddenly  to  withhold  its  light  from  the 
earth  below,  over  which  the  shadow  of  the  awful  cloud  settled 
down  in  darkness.  What  light  remained  was  barely  sufficient  to 
guide  the  travellers  on  their  devious  and  difficult  way,  and  to 
make  the  scene  still  more  ghastly,  the  forked  lightning  began  to 
pierce  the  threatening  mass  of  vapor,  and  the  air  became  all  at 
once  so  thick  as  to  impede  respiration. 

“ Now  God  and  His  holy  angels  shield  us  from  harm  !”  said  the 
elder  cavalier,  and  raising  his  right  hand  he  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  on  his  ample  forehead ; “ we  are  in  for  a thunder-storm, 
and  most  likely  a tornado  after  it — look  around,  my  young 
friend,  and  see  if  this  wilderness  contain  no  human  dwelling. 
For  me,  I have  been  straining  mine  eyes  in  vain  with  the  same 
intent  since  yonder  ominous  cloud  began  to  obscure  the  heavens. 
Would  that  I had  taken  the  guide — but  then  I deemed  the  way 
so  short,  and  fancied  I knew  it  so  well — so  I did,  too,  but  alas  ! 
it  is  not  the  same— changed — changed — all — Heaven  save  us! 
Boy  ! boy  ! see  you  no  dwelling  V’ 

“ Boy  !”  repeated  his  companion  with  scornful  emphasis,  “ me- 
thinks,  sir  stranger,  you  are  over  free  ! One  who  has  commanded 
a troop  of  horse,  ay ! and  (though  he  tell  it  himself)  seen  some 
service,  must  needs  be  other  than  a boy ! Mother  of  God , 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


13 


what  a scene  ! — what  a ghastly  glare,  and  heard  you  ever  such 
thunder — it  seems  as  though  the  end  of  things  was  at  hand ■” 

“ Ha ! who  comes  there  V cried  the  other  cavalier,  as  a third 
horseman  dashed  up  at  neck-or-nothing  speed,  apparently  reck- 
less*f  life  and  limb. 

“ Your  guide,”  was  the  brief  response,  as  the  soldier,  for 
such  he  was,  passed  the  travellers  at  a gallop,  and  reined  in  his 
horse  on  reaching  the  front.  “We  at  the  castle  knew  what 
manner  of  road  lay  before  you,  and  fearing  some  evil  might  befal 
you,  thought  it  best  to  follow  your  footsteps,  so  as  to  be  at  hand 
in  case  your  memory  failed  you.” 

“ Thanks,  good  fellow,”  said  the  elder  traveller,  “ thanks  for 
your  friendly  forethought,  but  I see  not  now  what  you  can  do  to 
aid  us — place  of  shelter  there  seemeth  none,  and  the  rain  will 
speedily  pour  down  in  torrents  from  yonder  black  cloud ” 

“ Follow  me !”  said  the  guide,  “ and  we  shall  see — if  my  mem- 
ory fail  me  not,  there  should  be  one  dwelling  inhabited  some- 
where hereabouts !” 

The  two  gentlemen  followed  in  silence,  anxiously  watching 
the  motions  of  their  guide,  who  kept  a few  paces  in  front,  peer- 
ing on  either  side  through  the  gloom,  down  into  the  ground,  as  it 
seemed  to  them,  hallooing  through  his  closed  hand  ever  and 
anon.  Still  no  answer  came,  and  still  the  storm  increased,  and 
the  younger  traveller  waxed  impatient. 

“ Man !”  he  called  out  angrily  from  behind,  “ what  mummery 
is  this  1 I tell  you,  no  living  soul  is  within  hearing — he  were 
worse  than  a fool  who  rested  his  hopes  on  such  a chance ! By 
my  faith,  Sir  Phelim,  I could  wish  your  brawny  self  in  my  place 
this  hour,  an’  you  were,  my  good  sir,  you  might  perchance  be 
more  sparing  of  stone  walls  hereafter — holy  St.John!  we  are 
in  for  another  deluge !” 

But  just  at  that  moment  when  the  big  drops  began  to  patter 
against  the  faces  of 'the  travellers  and  the  thunder  growled  be- 
hind them  like  a pack  of  wolves  on  their  track,  the  wild  halloo  of 
the  guide  was  faintly  responded  to,  as  though  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  and  in  the  midst  of  a pile  of  ruins  a little  back  from 
the  road,  a light  made  itself  dimly  visible,  a moving,  twinkling 


14 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


light,  too,  seeming  as  though  carried  in  the  hand  of  a person  not 
as  yet  visible. 

“ Thank  God,  they’re  here  still,”  said  the  guide  in  a soliloquiz- 
ing tone  ; “I  knew  not  but  it’s  dead  they  might  be  by  this  time.” 

“Enter  in  God’s  name!”  said  a voice  speaking  the  ^rish 
tongue,  from  a yawning  aperture  in  the  wall,  close  to  where  the 
elder  traveller  stood — so  close  indeed  that  he  started  at  the  un- 
expected sound,  and  the  equally  unexpected  sight  of  a female 
form  holding  aloft  a piece  of  blazing  bog-wood.  “ Shelter  you 
can  have,  if  nothing  more !” 

“ Follow  her  !”  whispered  the  guide,  seeing  the  strangers  hesi- 
tate, “ within  you  have  nought  to  fear — without,  danger  and  may- 
hap destruction  are  abroad.” 

Nothing  more  was  necessary,  for  the  rain  began  to  pour  down 
in  torrents.  Leaping  lightly  from  their  nags,  which  the  guide 
took  in  charge,  the  two  gentlemen  hastened  after  the  unknown 
damsel  through  what  seemed  to  have  been  a flagged  passage 
leading,  on  the  right,  into  a low  chamber  of  narrow  dimensions, 
the  stone  roof  of  which  effectually  excluded  the  pelting  rain, 
while  the  total  absence  of  anything  like  windows,  although  giv- 
ing a tomb-like  appearance  to  the  place,  served  now  to  shut  out 
the  lightning,  and  conveyed  a sense  of  security  that  was  very 
acceptable  to  the  travellers  after  their  long  exposure  to  the  fury 
of  the  elements.  A wide  open  chimney  occupied  one  entire  side 
of  the  little  chamber,  and  on  a low  stool  close  to  the  hearth  sat 
an  aged  woman,  cowering,  July  evening  as  it  was,  with  out- 
stretched hands,  over  a few  half-burned  brambles.  Her  face,  as 
she  turned  it  towards  the  travellers,  was  ghastly  pale,  and  old, 
and  wrinkled,  and  misery  was  stamped  on  every  feature,  yet  the 
silver-grey  hair  was  deftly  rolled  bacJs  from  her  high  forehead 
under  a coif  which,  though  of  the  coarsest  texture,  was  scrupu- 
lously clean.  Her  skinny  arms,  bare  from  the  elbows,  were 
long,  and  lean,  and  yellow,  but,  what  seemed  strange  to  both 
travellers,  and  they  noticed  it  at  once,  was  an  antique  ring  of 
the  finest  gold  which  glittered  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand, 

“ Mother  !”  said  the  younger  female,  after  placing  the  strangers 
on  two  rough  blocks  of  wood  which,  except  the  stool  before 
mentioned,  were  the  only  seats  to  be  seen  j “ mother,  give  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


15 


word  of  welcome  to  these  noble  gentlemen  who  have  taken  shelter 
here  from  the  storm  !”  and  so  saying  she  placed  her  little  torch 
in  a clay-socket  over  the  hob-stone.  By  its  light,  the  aged  crone 
carefully  examined  the  faces  of  her  guests,  or  rather  that  of  the 
elder  traveller,  on  whom  her  eyes  first  fell,  nor  spoke,  nor  even 
noticed  his  respectful  salutation,  till  her  scrutiny  was  accom- 
plished. No  emotion  of  any  kind  was  visible  on  her  withered 
features,  neither  joy,  surprise,  nor  even  curiosity,  but  slowly 
rising  from  her  seat,  she  drew  herself  up  to  a height  little  to  bo 
expected  from  her  previous  crouching  attitude,  then  bowing  her 
head  with  an  air  of  almost  queenly  dignity,  she  said : 

“Welcome,  son  of  the  Hy-Nial ! welcome  to  our  miserable 
dwelling ! — you  come  to  us  in  storm  and  cloud  as  beseems  one 
so  long  foretold.  May  your  coming  bring  back  the  sunshine  of 
prosperity  to  the  mournful  children  of  the  Gael !” 

“ Son  of  the  Hy-Nial !”  repeated  the  younger  traveller,  turning 
in  surprise  to  his  companion  who  met  his  look  with  a grave 
smile,  then  rose  and  returned  the  old  dame’s  salute  with  a rev- 
erence due  to  her  age ; “ son  of  the  Hy-Nial,”  said  the  young 

man  still  looking  at  him,  “ can  it  be  that  you  are •” 

“ Owen  O'Neill,  commonly  called  in  these  parts,  as  I am  told, 
Owen  Roe.” 

“I  knew  it,”  said  the  old  woman  in -a  voice  now  quivering 
with  emotion;  “ I knew  you  were  of  the  line  of  Con  ! Judith”— 
turning  to  her  daughter — “ said  I not  that  the  champion  of  the 
Red  Hand  was  on  his  way  to  join  the  men  of  Erin  1 — I told  you 
I saw  him  in  my  dream  last  night — ay ! did  I,  and  struggling 
with  a huge  wolf,  which  he  will  speedily  have  to  do,  and  that 
not  with  one,  but  many — rejoice,  my  daughter,  and  smile  as  you 
were  wont  that  your  mother’s  heart  may  be  gladdened  !” 

“ Colonel  O’Neill  is  welcome,”  said  the  young  woman,  coming 
a step  or  two  forward  from  the  dark  corner  into  which  she  had 
retire  1 ; “ long  hath  his  coming  been  looked  for  by  the  tribes  of 
Ulster,  and  now  is  their  hour  of  sorest  need !” 

The  tone  and  manner  of  the  speaker  gave  singular  signifi- 
cance to  her  words,  and  were  such  as  to  attract  the  attention  of 
both  the  cavaliers.  The  younger  could  hardly  repress  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise,  but  O’Neill,  habitually  calm  and  cool, 


16 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


merely  fixed  his  keen  eye  on  the  young  woman,  if  young  she 
could  be  called  with  the  impression  of  some  thirty  years  legibly 
stamped  on  her  pale  brow.  There  was  little  of  youthfulness 
remaining  in  her  face  or  figure,  nor  was  she  what  could  be  called 
a beauty,  but  there  was  more  than  beauty,  more  than  youth  in 
the  dark  depths  of  her  radiant  eyes,  and  the  exquisite  delicacy 
of  her  fair  Grecian  features,  expressive  at  once  of  mildness  and 
candor,  together  with  a certain  amount  of  firmness  seldom  seen 
on  so  womanly  a countenance.  A heavy  mass  of  rich  brown 
hair  was  gathered  in  a soft  twist  to  the  back  of  her  head,  leaving 
its  admirable  conformation  (as  phrenologists  would  say)  fully 
exposed  to  view.  Her  figure  was  tall  and  of  perfect  symmetry 
in  its  proportions,  while  every  movement  was  marked  by  ease 
and  grace.  Sooth  to  say,  it  was  hard  to  reconcile  the  air  and 
bearing,  the  words  and  manner  of  either  mother  or  daughter 
with  the  extreme  poverty  indicated  by  all  around  them.  The 
dress  of  both  was  the  coarse  brown  drugget,  or  “ linsey-wool- 
sey” worn  by  the  lowest  classes  of  the  peasantry,  even  that  old 
anl  faded,  although  clean.  Before  any  one  had  spoken  another 
word,  Judith  had  withdrawn  into  her  obscure  station,  and  the 
gentlemen  Were  both  too  well  bred  to  follow  her  thither  with 
their  eyes. 

“ Thanks,  good  ladies,”  said  O’Neill  after  a moment’s  silence, 
“ thanks  for  your  kind  and  courteous  welcome.” 

“ Ladies,  good  ladies !”  muttered  the  crone  in  a half-audible 
voice,  as  she  slowly  resumed  her  three-legged  stool.  “ Ladies — 
ha!  ha!  ha!”  and  she  croaked  a sort  of  mocking  laugh. 

“ Nay,  I beg  to  be  excused  from  tendering  thanks,”  said  the 
younger  cavalier  with  an  assumption  of  gaiety  that  did  not  con- 
ceal a feeling  of  bitterness  lurking  beneath.  “ The  welcome  was 
all  for  you — no  word  of  kindness  hath  reached  my  ear,  though  I, 
too,  am  of  the  Gael — in  outward  show,  at  least !”  he  added  in  an 
under  tone. 

“ Not  so,  Sir  John  Netterville,”  said  the  guide,  who  now 
appeared  from  the  dark  passage,  “ the  feathers  do  not  make 
the  bird — you  were  not  of  the  Gael,  noble  sir,  when  you  rode 
with  Dunboyne’s  troop  to  the  luckless  pass  of  Mageny  !” 

“ Netterville ! Netterville !”  repeated  the  old  woman  slowly, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


17 


and  turning,  slie  fixed  her  stih  piercing  eye  on  the  now  laughing, 
blushing  face  of  the  young  nobleman,  “ methinks  I should  know 
that  name — alas,  yes ! I once  had  a lover,  a gallant  Norman 
knight  from  within  the  Pale — Rufus  Netterville  was  his  name,  a 
brother  of  my  Lord  Netterville.” 

“ He  was  my  grand  sire,  that  Rufus,”  cried  the  young  man, 
pale  with  astonishment,  “ but  tell  me,  in  Heaven’s  name,  who  are 
you  V' 

“ You  may  well  ask  the  question,”  the  old  woman  replied,  as 
she  cast  her  eye  around  on  her  miserable  abode  ; “ young 
man,  you  see  before  you — the  widow  of  O’Cahan,  the  daughter 
of  Maguire !”  Hearing  this,  even  O’Neill  was  surprised  out  of 
his  usual  self-possession.  “ Alas,  poor  lady  !”  he  exclaimed  with 
emotion,  “ what  a fall  is  yours  !” 

“ Hood  Heavens  !”  cried  Netterville,  “ can  it  be  1 How — how 
is  it  V’ 

“ That  my  daughter  will  tell  you,  if  perchance  you  tarry 
longer!” 

A peal  of  thunder  shook  the  old  walls  at  that  moment,  and 
Netterville  said  with  a gay  laugh,  “ this  storm  is  wondrous  kind, 
you  see,  for  it  leaves  us  no  choice !”  O’Neill  gave  an  anxious 
glance  down  the  long  passage,  but  the  sky  was  still  dark  and 
threatening,  and  the  heavy  fall  of  the  rain  reached  his  ear  even 
there.  However  great  his  hurry  might  be,  he  saw  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  stay  and  listen.  Making  a virtue  of  neces- 
sity, with  grave  politeness  he  expressed  his  wish  to  hear  the  story. 

“But  first  I would  wish  to  know  of  my  young  friend  here,” 
said  0 Neill  with  much  composure,  “ whether  it  be  customary  for 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Pale  to  assume  the  costume  of  the  native 
chiefs  in  token  of  adhesion  to  their  cause  1” 

“I  understand  you,  Colonel,”  Sir  John  quickly  replied,  “and 
will  answer  your  question  by  another : Is  it  customary  with  Irish 
gentlemen  of  foreign  reputation  landing  hither  from  Spain  or 
France  to  lay  aside  the  uniform  of  the  armies  with  whom  their 
fame  and  laurels  were  won,  in  token  that  they  hold  no  further 
connection  with  those  friendly  nations  V’ 

“ Aptly  put,  Sir  John,  but  methinks  a gentleman  of  such  keen 
wit  might  further  ‘ understand’  that  I,  finding  occasion  to  jour- 


18 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


ney  alone  over  a long  tract  of  country  whose  condition  I know 
not,  may  deem  it  more  expedient  to  adopt  the  costume  of  the 
native  gentry  and  nobility,  as  likelyr  to  attract  less  notice  than 
the  uniform  of  a foreign  army !” 

“ Something  similar  is  the  case  with  me,”  said  Netterville  in  a 
tone  of  levity  that  was  clearly  assumed,  “ the  only  difference 
being  that  my  business  is  private  and  yours  public.  Are  you 
satisfied 

O’Neill  answered  with  a slight  bow.  He  was  not  quite  satis- 
fied, yet  too  polite  to  say  so,  he  turned  again  to  Judith  and  with 
a cheerful  smile  requested  her  to  favor  them  with  the  promised 
recital. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

“ And  underneath  that  face,  like  summer’s  oceans, 

Its  life  as  noiseless,  and  its  cheek  as  clear, 

Slumbers  a whirlwind  of  the  heart’s  emotions, 

Love — hatred — pride— hope — sorrow — all,  save  fear.” 

Fitz-Green  Halleck. 

Judith  approached  her  allotted  task  with  the  air  of  one  who 
had  but  small  liking  for  it.  Without  moving  from  her  place  in 
the  comer,  she  asked  the  guide  if  there  was  no  likelihood  of  the 
storm  ceasing,  and  his  reply  in  the  negative  appeared  to  give  her 
anything  but  pleasure. 

“ It  is  ill  dallying  in  a vault  like  this,  hearkening  to  old  stories,” 
said  she,  “ when  an  oppressed  country  is  groaning  in  sore  tra- 
vail. Nay,  colonel,  I meant  no  reproach,”  seeing  that  O’Neill 
reddened  to  the  eyes,  “I  do  but  lament  the  necessity  which 
keeps  you  here.  As  for  your  companion,  neither  time  nor  tide 
awaits  his  going  hence,  and  I see  he  burns  to  have  the  strange 
enigma  of  my  mother’s  fate  solved.  And  yet  the  story  is  no- 
wise. strange  or  uncommon  in  these  latter  days,  and  will  take 
but  brief  space  of  time  to  tell.” 

“ Child!”  said  her  mother  testily,  “ you  mistake,  the  story  is 
of  much  interest.” 

“ To  us  it  is,  mother,”  and  Judith  smiled  sadly.  “ But  not  to 
others.” 

The  gentlemen  both  hastened  to  express  their  extreme  desire 
to  hear  it,  such  as  it  was,  and  Judith,  without  further  remark, 
complied.  In  a clear,  calm,  passionless  voice  she  told  how  her 
mother,  although  betrothed  to  young  Netterville  (with  whom  she 
had  become  acquainted  during  a visit  to  her  maternal  relatives, 
the  O’Reillys  of  Breffhy),  was  forced  by  her  stern  father  to 


20 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


fulfil  a previous  engagement  made  by  him  on  her  behalf  with 
the  chieftain  of  D ungiven ; how  her  husband,  Brian  O’Cahan,  took 
sides  with  the  great  Earl,  and  followed  his  fortunes  all  through 
those  disastrous  wars  which  ended  in  ruin  and  defeat,  leayng 
Ulster  a desert,  and  its  noblest  families  beggars — “ ay,  starving 
beggars,”  said  Judith  bitterly,  “ as  we  can  tell  to  our  sad  misfor- 
tune. In  the  halls  of  Dungiven,*  by  the  silver  waters  of  the  Roe, 
my  mother  had  long  dwelt  in  such  peace  as  the  evil  times  would 
allow,  protected  as  well  by  the  remoteness  of  her  position  as  by 
the  strong  arms  of  the  clansmen  left  by  my  father,  to  guard  his 
home  and  the  loved  ones  from  whom  cruel  war  kept  him  so 
long  absent.  The  years  of  the  weary  struggle  passed — oh,  how 
tediously  ! and  new  sacrifices  were  demanded  of  my  poor  mother, 
for  the  three  brave  boys  whom  my  father  left  as  children, 
were  no  sooner  able  to  wield  a weapon  than  they  quitted  their 
mother  one  by  one,  to  take  their  places  by  their  father’s  side 
amongst  the  veteran  warriors  of  the  north.  Alas  ! their  career  of 
arms  was  short — it  was  the  will  of  Heaven  that  they  should  see 
their  old  home  no  more — their  first  campaign  was  their  last,  but 
my  mother  knew  not  of  her  loss — it  was  carefully  kept  from  her 
— till,  at  the  close  of  the  long,  long,  bloody  war,  when  the  star 
of  Tyrone  had  set,  to  all  appearance,  for  ever,  and  the  victor  of 
so  many  battles  had  bent  his  knee  before  the  upstart  Mountjoy, 

* The  Castle  of  Dungiven,  one  of  the  principal  strongholds  of  the 
noble  house  of  O’Cahan  (O’ Kane),  is  thus  described  by  a writer  in  the 
Dublin  Penny  Journal : “ The  house,  which  is  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  long  and  twenty  feet  wide,  is  seated  on  a gentie  slope,  and  front- 
ing the  southwest,  and  having  a fosse  and  mounds  for  a defence  in 
front,  and,  at  either  end  of  the  building,  round  towers,  projecting  a 
little,  and  furnished  with  loop-holes  for  musketry.  On  the  northeast 
are  two  courts,  each  fifty  yards  in  length  and  forty  in  breadth,  through 
which  is  the  principal  entrance  ; the  outer  court  is  surrounded  by  a 
low  wall,  having  a reservoir  of  water  within  it ; the  inner  court,  which 
is  rectangular,  is  defended  by  a wall  twenty  feet  high,  with  embra- 
sures, &c.,  and  at  each  angle  are  square  towers  as  flankers  : on  the 
inside  this  wall  is  strengthened  by  an  arched  rampart,  and  runs  round 
three  sides  of  the  rectangle.  The  situation  is  commanding,  and  the 
view3  around  it  truly  admirable.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


21 


when  my  father  returned  alone  to  his  ancestral  halls,  foot-sore 
and  weary,  with  garments  soiled  and  torn,  and  his  stalwart 
form  bowed  down  with  shame  and  sorrow,  far  more  than  years, 
then  it  was  that  my  mother  asked  for  her  boys,  and  was  told 
that  they  had  fallen  on  the  field  of  battle.  Alas  ! it  was  little 
comfort  for  her  to  hear,  from  the  lips  of  their  father  and  their 
chief,  that  they  had  died  as  became  their  lineage,  died,  too,  in 
the  arms  of  victory,  two  of  them  at  Benburb,  and  one  at  the 
Yellow  Ford  when  Bagnall’s  haughty  crest  went  down  before 
the  might  of  the  Red-Hand.” 

“Woe  is  me !”  muttered  the  old  woman  in  a dreary,  dreamy 
voice,  as  she  sat  apparently  but  half  conscious,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  poor  apology  for  a fire,  which  it  seemed  her  business  and 
her  pleasure  to  keep  alive ; “ woe  is  me ! I deemed  my  loss  a 
heavy  one — alas  ! alas  ! I l.ved  to  be  thankful  that  my  boys 
were  gone !” 

Judith  stopped  and  looked  with  tearful  eyes  on  her  mother, 
and  Netterville  was  breaking  out  into  an  expression  of  sympathy, 
but  the  young  woman,  with  grave  dignity,  motioned  him  to  be 
silent. 

“ My  mother  loves  not  the  language  of  pity,”  said  she  in  a 
subdued  tone,  and  she  glanced  furtively  at  O’Neill,  whose  eyes 
were  moist,  though  he  said  nothing ; “we  of  the  old  blood 
have  pride  in  proportion  to  our  poverty,  Master  Netterville 
— I mean,  Sir  John  Netterville! — I told  you,  however,  that 
my  mother  lost  her  children — they  were  all  she  had  at  that 
time.  I have  now  to  tell  you  that  many  months  had  not  gone 
by,  when  my  father  lost  lands  and  livings,  houses,  castles,  and 
all,  all  that  had  been  his,  except  the  sorrowful  partner  of  his 
life,  and  the  few  faithful  followers  whom  neither  hunger,  nor  cold, 
nor  any  other  privation  could  detach  from  their  lord  and  lady. 
Every  foot  of  land  he  had  was  confiscated  to  the  crown,  in 
common  with  the  domains  of  all  the  other  chieftains,  who  had 
taken  part  with  O’Neill  in  the  late  war,  and  at  fifty,  Brian 
O’Cahan  found  himself  a houseless,  homeless  man,  with  a wife 
enfeebled  by  sorrow  and  suffering,  looking  to  him  for  that  sup- 
port and  protection  which  the  stout  warrior  had  no  longer  to 
give.  Truly,  it  was  a sad  day  when  they  turned  their  backs  on 


22 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Dungiven  Castle,  and  bade  adieu  for  ever  to  the  statelier  halls  of 
Limavady,*  and  wandered  forth  in  search  of  shelter,  like  unto 
our  first  parents  when  driven  from  the  shades  of  Eden.” 

“ We  thought  we  were  leaving  the  Castle  for  ever — sure  enough 
we  did,”  said  the  old  woman  with  a ghastly  smile  on  her  withered 
features,  “ for  Brian  said  they’d  be  giving  it  and  Limavady,  too, 
to  some  drummer  or  fifer  of  their  army,  to  set  him  up  for  a lord. 
But  it  seems  they  were  afraid  to  leave  the  houses  as  they  were, 
for  fear  of  O’Cahan  taking  them  back  some  day  or  another — ■ 
which  between  ourselves  was  just  what  he  meant  to  do,’’  she 
added,  nodding  with  a confidential  air  to  O’Neill.  “ So  they  bat- 
tered them  down  as  well  as  they  could,  and  woe  is  me  1 I was 
fain  to  take  shelter  many  a long  day  after  in  the  old  walls  of 
Dungiven  with  my  daughter,  poor  Judith  there.  Child  of  my 
heart !”  and  she  turned  her  aged  eyes  on  her  daughter  with  a 
look  of  ineffable  affection,  “ child  of  my  heart ! she  came  to  us  in 
our  heavy  sorrow ; two  years  after  we  left  our  home,  she  was 
born  in  a hut  on  the  outskirts  of  our  former  territory,  and  she  was 
but  a fortnight  old  when  her  father  was  arrested  on  a fresh  charge 
of  stirring  up  the  people  to  sedition.  Heaven  help  us  ! that  was  a 
black  day  to  us,  for  the  faithful  few  who  had  clung  to  us  in  our 
poverty  and  destitution,  fell  before  our  eyes,,  one  after  another 
in  the  vain  and  rash  hope  of  saving  their  chief  from  falling  a 
second  time  into  the  hands  of  the  king’s  soldiers.  They  fell  one 
by  one,  at  the  door  of  our  hut,  with  a prayer  for  O’Cahan  on 
their  dying  lips,  and  over  the  pile  made  by  their  dead  bodies  on 

Though  the  O’Cahans  had  a castle  at  Dungiven,  yet  the  principal 
residence  of  the  chief  was  at  Limavady  (Lint  an  madhah),  the  dog’s 
leap,  a delightful  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  Roe,  about  four  miles  below 
Dungiven,  where  the  river  has  sought  out  a narrow  way  between 
lofty  and  approaching  rocks  ; the  situation  was  happily  chosen,  and 
affords  no  mean  proof  of  the  taste  of  these  early  chieftains.  Nature 
has  there  so  assembled  and  disposed  of  her  choicest  features  of 
wood,  and  rock,  and  water,  that  they  could  derive  or  acquire  but 
little  aid  from  art  to  heighten  the  charms  of  the  scene.  The  last  con- 
siderable chief  of  the  O’Cahans,  being  implicated  in  treasonable  prac- 
tices with  O’Neill  and  O’Donnell,  early  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  was 
seized,  and  his  estates  forfeited  in  the  year  1607.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


23 


our  threshold,  was  Brian  dragged  forth  with  oaths  and  curses, 
himself  bleeding  you’d  think  to  death,  from  a wound  he  got  in 
the  scuffle.  My  prayers,  and  tears,  and  cries  were  useless — they 
would  not  so  much  as  give  him  time  to  bid  myself  and  the  babe 
farewell — he  could  only  look  at  us  and  point  to  the  blue  sky- 

above  as  they  tore  him  away That  was  the 

last  we  saw  of  him,”  she  added  after  a short  pause,  during  which 
all  held  their  breath  to  listen — even  Judith  dwelt  on  her  mother’s 
words  as  though  the  tale  she  told  was  new  to  her  ear.  The  old 
woman  said  not  another  word,  but  relapsing  into  her  former  stu- 
por, sat  gazing  as  before  on  the  dull,  cheerless  fire. 

‘'Like  many  another  chieftain  of  our  unhappy  nation,”  said 
Judith,  taking  up  the  sad  tale,  “ Brian  O’Cahan  died  in  prison — 
the  wound  he  got  on  that  fatal  day  was  never  dressed,  and 
that,  with  the  other  miseries  he  endured,  put  an  end  to  his  life 
within  a month.  He  died,  and  left  my  mother  and  myself — I 
was  then,  as  she  has  told  you,  but  a few  weeks  old — to  buffet  our 
way  through  the  world  as  best  we  could.  By  that  time,  our 
ancient  dwelling  was  a ruin,  battered  and  broken  down  by  the 
fierce,  strong,  Scottish  soldiers  who  were  left  to  work  their 

wicked  will  on  the  poor  conquered  Catholics  of  Ulster ” 

Here  a fierce  ejaculation  from  the  guide  drew  all  eyes  on  him. 
He  had  started  to  his  feet,  and  stood  with  his  right  hand  clenched, 
his  cheek  and  brow  glowing  crimson  red,  and  his  eyes  glaring 
like  those  of  a tiger.  With  his  strong  muscular  proportions,  he 
certainly  looked  a formidable  object,  but  while  the  gentlemen 
regarded  him  in  utter  amazement,  Judith,  approaching  him,  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  in  a soothing  tone : 

“ Donogh,  my  poor  boy ! what  ails  you  V’ 

“ What  ails  me  V’  he  repeated  in  a fierce,  wild  way,  still  with 
eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  wall,  as  though  some  cause  for  his  agi- 
tation was  there  visible.  “ Woman ! woman  ! why  ask  me  that !” 
Suddenly  recollecting  himself,  however,  he  added  with  a strong 
effort  at  self-control,  and  a sort  of  hysterical  laugh  that  was 
painful  to  hear:  “Oh  then,  nothing  at  all  ails  me, — nothing 
only  a kind  of  an  inward  cramp  that  I take  now  and  then — God 
help  me  ! isn’t  it  sure  to  come  on  me  at  the  wrong  time.  I ask 
your  pardon,  noble  gentlemen,  especially  the  colonel  there,  and 


24 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


yours,  daughter  of  O’Cahan — for  the  start  I took  out  of  you, 
and  the  unseemly  hole  I made  in  your  story.” 

By  some  strange  impulse,  O'Neill  and  Judith  exchanged 
glances,  but  neither  made  any  remark  on  Donogh’s  intrusive 
“ cramp.”  Netterville,  solely  intent  on  the  story,  begged  of  Ju- 
dith to  go  on,  muttering  something  at  the  same  time  not  very 
flattering  to  the  guide.  The  latter,  although  the  words  were  in- 
audible, appeared  to  understand  their  import,  for  he  instantly 
said,  in  a tone  half  ironical,  half  respectful : 

“ It  was  just  such  another  cramp,  Sir  John,  as  the  one  that 
seized  y u at  the  battle  of  Kilrush,  when  that  young  friar  ap- 
peared so  suddenly  before  you,  and  was  off*  again,  like  the  shot 
of  a gun,  as  I heard  you  tell  Rory  O’More.” 

“ You  heard !”  exclaimed  Netterville,  turning  quickly  on  his 
seat,  his  cheek  blanched  with  emotion ; “in  God’s  name,  who 
are  you  I stay — now  that  I look  at  you — do  you  not  belong  to 
Sir  Phelim’s  army  1” 

“ To  Sir  Phelim’s  army — O’Hanlon’s  company — your  honor  is 
right !” 

“ Ay ! methinks  I have  seen  you  often  in  company  with 
O’Neill’s  right  hand  man,  Shamus  Beg,  I think  they  call  him !” 

“ Very  likely,”  said  Donogh  very  coolly  ; “ we  often  march  to- 
gether— but  that’s  neither  here  nor  there — the  colonel  wants  to 
hear  her  ladyship’s  story  !” 

“ And  the  storm  begins  to  subside,”  said  Judith,  who  had  been 
to  take  a look  at  the  weather,  “ when  it  ceases,  my  tale  ceases, 
too,  so  that  I must  needs  make  short  work  of  what  remains. 
Dungiven  Castle  being  in  ruins,  as  I said  before,  the  wife  and 
daughter  of  its  owner  were  suffered  to  dwell  unmolested  within 
its  roofless  walls ; certain  of  our  own  people  who  had  taken 
refuge  from  the  fury  of  the  soldiery  in  the  woods  around,  came 
by  night  and  formed  a shelter  for  us,  with  the  branches  of  trees, 
around  one  of  the  fireplaces  in  the  former  banqueting  hall. 
These  faithful  followers,  so  long  as  they  were  suffered  to  remain 
in  that  neighborhood,  took  care  that  my  poor  mother  was  well 
provided  with  fire-wood,  which  they  nightly  placed  within  her 
reach,  together  with  a share  of  such  miserable  food  as  they 
could  procure  for  themselves.  In  fact,  they  watched  over  us 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


25 


with  the  tenderest  care,  and  served  ns  with  even  more  devotion 
than  if  my  mother  were  still  mistress  of  Dungiven  and  Limavady.” 

“ I was  mistress  of  Dungiven !”  said  the  mother,  looking  round 
as  before  with  her  strange  smile,  “ I had  it  all  to  myself,  and 
what  more  could  I desire  I” 

“ True  for  you,  mother,”  observed  Judith,  “ your  power  was 
absolute  there,  though  you  had  only  me,  a little  child,  to  rule. 
But  the  precious  time  is  passing  ; such  was  the  place,  and  such 
the  circumstances  in  which  my  earliest  years  were  passed,  and 
you  may  well  imagine  that  in  a scene  so  wild,  so  strange,  so  lonely, 
I grew  up  just  as  wild,  and  strange,  and  lonely — the  child  of 
nature,  of  solitude,  and  of  sorrow.  I need  not  tell  you  that  one 
of  the  first  impressions  stamped  upon  my  heart  was  hatred  of 
English  tyranny ” 

“ It  were  strange  an’  it  were  otherwise,”  said  O’Neill,  speak- 
ing almost  for  the  first  time ; “ were  it  only  your  Rapparee* 
friends  in  the  woods,  they  would  teach  you  that.  But  how,  or 
where,  fair  mistress,  found  you  the  stores  of  knowledge  which,  I 
see,  so  enrich  your  mind  I where  learned  you  to  discourse  in 
such  wise  as  now  you  do  I” 

“ Ah  !”  sighed  Judith  with  a sudden  change  of  manner,  “ that 
belongs  to  another  portion  of  my  story  which  were  over  long 
now  to  tell.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  for  the  little  book-learning  I 

* Long  before  the  war  of  1641,  the  scattered  remains  of  the  broken 
clans  of  Ulster,  driven  after  the  wars  of  Elizabeth’s  and  James’s 
time,  into  the  woods  and  bogs  for  refuge,  were  known  by  the  names 
of  Rapparees  and  Tories — outlawed  and  deprived,  by  the  provident 
care  of  the  British  Government,  of  every  means  of  support,  the.v  ne- 
cessarily lived  by  plunder.  Made  desperate  by  want  and  inspired  by 
the  burning  thirst  of  revenge,  they  became  a bold  and  reckless  race, 
being  formidable  to  the  well-fed  foreigners  who  were  snugly  located  in 
their  former  holdings,  and  even  the  proud  legions  of  England  were 
made  full  often  to  feel  the  vengeful  power  of  the  despised  Rapparee. 
During  the  whole  of  the  eleven  years’  war,  which  commenced  in  ’41, 
the  Rapparees  did  good  service  at  times  to  the  Catholic  army, 
harassing  the  enemy  by  a sort  of  guerrilla  warfare  which  they  carried 
on  on  their  own  account,  but  generally  in  connection  with  the  confed- 
erate forces. 

12 


26 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


possess,  I owe  it  to  a loved  friend  and  cousin,  now,  alas  ! no 
more — I mean  the  Lady  O’Neill,  wife  of  Sir  Phelim.  By  chance, 
she  discovered  us  in  our  dismal  dwelling,  whose  walls  my  mo- 
ther affected  so  much  as  to  prefer  their  shelter  even  to  that  of  a 
royal  palace — and  at  first  she  would  by  no  means  consent  to 
leave  them,  but  the  persuasions  of  that  true  friend  were  so  ur- 
gent, and  above  all  her  representations  as  regarded  me  and  the 
teaching  I ought  to  have,  that  at  last  my  poor  mother  gave  her 
consent,  and  we  both  were  taken  by  the  Lady  Nora  to  Kinnard 
Castle,  where  for  twelve  happy  years  we  found  a home.  I was  a 
tall  young  damsel  of  eighteen  or  thereabouts,  when  we  first 
crossed  the  threshold  of  that  house,  knowing  nothing  of  books, 
and  little  of  the  world  ; I was  thirty  in  years,  and  older  still  in 
mind  and  heart,  when  cruel  death  deprived  us  of  our  best 
friend  and  most  dear  benefactress — the  Lady  Nora  died,  and  a 
few  weeks  after  her  death,  we  were  again  without  a home — 
worse  even  than  before,”  she  said,  after  a pause,  and  with  a 
heightened  color,  she  added,  “ for  even  the  shelter  of  our  old 
ruin  was  no  longer  burs  to  enjoy.” 

“Why,  how  could  that  bel”  demanded  Netterville ; “did  the 
government  forbid  you  that,  too 

“ Nay, nay,”  said  Judith,  “the  government  took  but  little  note 
of  the  existence  of  two  poor  helpless  women  such  as  we.  Colonel 
O’Neill,”  said  she  rising  and  pointing  with  a gesture  of  command 
down  the  long  passage ; “ yonder  is  the  clear  sky  again — the 
storm  is  past — need  I remind  you  that  time  presses,  and  that 
many  eyes  are  strained  looking  for  your  coming  'l  Depart  in 
God’s  name,  though  it  ill  becomes  the  daughter  of  O'Cahan  to 
speed  the  traveller  from  her  mother’s  hearth !” 

61  You  are  right,  lady,”  said  Owen  with  that  calm  dignity  which 
belonged  to  him,  “ you  are  right,  and  I thank  you.  One  thing 

I would  fain  know,  nevertheless,  before  I go  hence ” 

“ And  I,”  said  Netterville,  in  his  gay,  thoughtless  way,  “will 
not  stir  a step  from  here  till  I have  learned  whether  Sir  Phelim 
turned  you  out  of  doors — or  what — if  he  did,  by  the  rood ! he  shall 
answer  for  such  black  deed  !” 

O’Neill’s  deep,  earnest  eyes  were  on  Judith  at  the  moment,  and 
she  felt  that  they  looked  what  the  more  reckless  Norman  had 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


27 


spoken  in  plain  Irish.  But  Judith  O’Cahan  did  not  choose  to  af- 
ford further  information.  Drawing  herself  up  with  an  air  of  dig- 
nity that  made  Netterville  smile,  whilst  O’Neill  thought  it  well 
"became  her,  she  said : 

“ I know  not  of  any  right  you  have,  Sir  John  Netterville,  to 
dive  farther  into  our  affairs  than  we  choose  to  lay  them  open  to 
you.  I have  told  you  all  that  I am  willing  to  tell, — what  remains 
could  have  no  interest  for  you.” 

“Nay,  Judith,”  said  the  old  woman,  “as  you  have  told  so 
much,  I would  have  you  tell  all.  What  shame  is  it  to  you  or  me 
that  you  cannot  listen  to  Sir  Phelim’s  smooth  speeches  I This 
English  gentleman  asked  if  Sir  Phelim  turned  us  out  of  doors — 
not  so,  young  sir,  not  so, — but  rather  would  he  have  kept  us  in 
his  home  for  life.  I were  well  content  to  have  staid  on  his 
terms,  for  surely  even  O’Cahan’s  daughter  could  not  look  higher 
than  the  lord  of  Tyr-Owen,  but  Judith  closed  her  ears  and  her 
heart  against  him,  and  I besought  her  only  to  speak  him  fair  for 
a while,  and  that  mayhap  either  he  would  tire  waiting,  or  she 
think  better  of  the  affair,  but  she  told  me  she  would  rather  die 
a thousand  deaths  than  become  Sir  Phelim’s  wife.  What  could 
I say  after  that,  for  my  child’s  happiness  or  misery  is  mine,  too , 
so  when  the  rough  chieftain  found  she  was  in  earnest  in  refusing 
to  marry  him,  he  stormed  and  swore,  and  said  he  would  have  her 
whether  she  liked  it  or  not.  We  thought  it  was  time  to  move, 
after  that,  so  we  left  himself  and  his  castle,  and  the  ghost  of  my 
poor  cousin  Nora,  Heaven  be  her  bed ! that  people  said  was 
haunting  him  eveiy  night  of  his  life,  and  out  we  went  again 
on  the  wide  world  to  hide  our  heads  wherever  we  could.  Our  own 
old  place  we  dared  not  go  to,  for  there  Sir  Phelim  would  be  sure 
to  Sad  us, — if  Judith  was  willing,  I would  have  gone  with  her  to 
some  of  the  chieftains  of  our  kindred  and  craved  protection,  but 
Judith  would  hear  of  no  such  thing,  for  she  said  it  would  but 
breed  dissension  amongst  the  chiefs  when  it  most  behoved  them 
to  keep  together  It  were  ill  rousing  the  lion  from  his  lair, 
Judith  says,  or  thrusting  others  within  reach  of  his  claws ” 

“Mother!  mother!”  cried  Judith  with  sudden  vehemence, 
“ wherefore  speak  in  such  wise  of  matters  that  were  better  buried 
in  oblivion  1 Donogh,  my  good  lad,  bring  the  horses  to  the  road.” 


28 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Donogh  instantly  vanished,  and  both  the  cavaliers  standing  up, 
prepared  to  resume  their  journey.  There  was  a cloud  on  O’Neill’s 
brow,  and  a flush  on  his  cheek  that  showed  some  strong  inward 
emotion,  but  of  what  nature  it  was,  none  but  himself  might 
know.  As  for  Netterville,  he  swore  a good  round  oath  that  one 
day  or  another  he  would  brand  Sir  Phelim  with  the  disgrace  of 
such  unmanly  persecution. 

“ Nay,  Sir  John !”  once  more  put  in  Judith,  “ I beseech  you 
that  you  never  upbraid  him  with  it.  My  mother  and  I can  never 
forget  that  his  roof  gave  us  shelter  and  protection  when  few 
would  dare  to  give  us  either, — for  years  long  we  eat  his  bread 
and  were  welcome  guests  at  his  hospitable  board — it  would 
shame  me,  too,  to  have  my  name  so  mentioned — and  by  stranger 
tongue  ! — no  ! no  ! — if  indeed  you  would  befriend  the  friendless 
daughter  of  O’Cahan  forget  that  you  ever  saw  her — ever  heard 
her  hapless  tale !’ 

“ She  is  right,  my  friend,”  said  O’Neill  earnestly;  “ any  inter- 
ference of  ours  would  but  harm  those  we  meant  to  serve.  Come, 
let  us  go !” 

“ Not  till  I have  heard,”  said  his  mercurial  companion,  “ by 
what  strange  chance  these  ladies  fixed  on  such  a dwelling ” 

“It  was  not  chance,”  Judith  replied,  “ we  had  often  heard  Sir 
Phelim  boast  of  the  desert  he  had  made  of  the  English  settle- 
ment, which  he  said  had  been  a pestilent  nest  of  Protestant 
bigotry  and  all  manner  of  injustice  towards  the  natives  of  the 
country  for  miles  around  who  professed  the  old  faith.  Many  a 
time  and  oft  did  we  shudder  at  the  picture  he  was  wont  to  draw 
of  its  solitude  and  desolation,  but  we  remembered  it  with  joy  and 
hope  when  forced  to  flee  from  Kinnard  Castle  and  the  land  of 
Owen.  Hither  we  came,  like  Noah’s  dove,  seeking  rest  for  our 
wearied  feet,  and  lo ! having  found  it,  here  we  abide — buried,  as 
it  were,  in  a dreary  tomb,  yet  still  untrammeled  by  ties  which 
were  chains  of  burning  iron — to  one  of  us  at  least !” 

“ As  for  this  noble  dwelling,”  said  the  mother,  with  a touch 
of  sly  humor  little  to  be  expected,  “ it  was  not  Sir  Phelim  that 
left  it  as  it  is — it  was  a fire  that  broke  out  in  it  some  three  years 
agone, — one  fine  summer’s  evening  when  all  the  Protestant 
grandees  for  miles  round  were  assembled  in  the  large  room 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


29 


which  those  Englishers  called  the  c best  parlor.’  There  was  a 
grand  young  English  lady  from  somewhere  within  the  Pale  on  a 
visit  here  at  the  time ” 

“Good  God!”  cried  Netterville,  pale  with  emotion,  and  gasp- 
ing for  breath,  “ who  was  the  owner  of  the  house  1” 

“ It  belonged  to  the  Protestant  minister,”  said  Judith,  regard- 
ing the  young  man  with  a surprised  look ; “ it  was  what  they  call 
the  manse  o:r  glebe-house.” 

“ And  the  young  lady  from  the  Pale 

“ She  was,  I believe,  a beauty,  and  the  daughter  of  a great 
man ” 

“ Ay ! great  in  wickedness,  if  in  nothing  else.  I know  all 
about  him, — but  can  this  be  the  house  of  which  I have  heard  so 
much'?  If  so,”  he  added  in  an  under  tone,  “ I marvel  not  at  its 
desolation.  But  how  say  you,  fair  lady  1 — the  noble  damsel  of 
whom  you  speak  was,  then,  the  sister,  or  rather  I think  you  said, 
the  niece,  of  Master  Hatfield,  the  minister  1” 

“ Nay,  I said  not  that,”  said  Judith  with  a quiet  smile,  “ but 
you  say  it,  and  of  a surety  you  seem  to  know  more  about  the 
matter  than  do  I.  For  us,  we  might  have  taken  little  note  of 
what  fell  out  amongst  the  unneighborly  Englishers,  were  it  not 
for  a heroic  deed  performed,  on  that  occasion,  by  one  of  our 
own  kin !” 

“Who  was  thatl”  said  Netterville,  speaking  in  an  abstracted 
tone  and  manner. 

“ Our  right  noble  kinsman,  Maguire  of  Fermanagh.  Passing 
the  house  with  a few  retainers  just  when  the  fire  was  at  its 
height,  and  hearing  the  people  crying  on  every  side,  that  the 
fairest  maiden  in  Leinster  was  still  somewhere  within  the  house, 
and  mus,t  perish  in  the  flames  if  not  speedily  rescued,  Connor 
did  but  wait  to  learn  from  some  of  the  company  the  spot  where 
the  lady  was  last  seen,  and,  immediately  darting  in,  he  appeared 
almost  in  the  twinkling  Of  an  eye,  bearing  in  his  arms  the  mo- 
tionless form  of  the  English  beauty  wrapped  in  his  heavy  cloak. 
Amid  the  cheers  and  joyous  shouts  of  the  crowTd  of  spectators, 
Maguire  placed  his  fair  burden  in  the  arms  of  her  rejoicing  rela- 
tives. He  had  found  her  in  that  death-like  swoon  just  within 
the  door,  where  she  had  fallen  in  a fright  and  remained  unno- 


30 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


ticed  in  the  general  confusion,  when  each  thought  only  of  self- 
preservation,  and  all  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  keep  their 
senses,  rushed  in  wild  affright  from  the  burning  building.  The 
brave  chieftain  had  not  himself  escaped  without  some  injury, 
but  little  recked  he  that  the  beauty  of  his  brown  silken  tresses 
was  gone,  or  that  his  face  and  neck  were  sadly  scorched : so 
long  as  he  had  saved  the  lady  from  a cruel  death  he  thought  not 
of  himself.  To  say  the  truth,  the  minister  and  all  the  rest  were 
very  thankful,  and  would  have  had  Maguire  go  with  them  to  one 
of  the  nearest  houses  to  have  dressing  for  his  burns  and  other 
needful  refreshment,  but  Connor  had  little  liking  for  that  com- 
pany, and  would  not  by  any  means  consent  to  tarry  when  once 
he  perceived  the  lady  coming  to  herself.” 

Both  the  gentlemen  were  about  to  speak,  but  the  old  woman 
•was  beforehand  with  them.  “ You  forgot  to  tell  Judith  that  his 
uncle  Lorcan,  who  was  with  Connor,  hurried  him  away  as  soon 
as  the  damsel  opened  her  mouth  to  thank  him.” 

‘ And  why  so  V ’ demanded  Netterviile  with  strong  emotion. 

“ Because  he  said  there  was  that  in  her  eyes  that  boded  no 
good  to  one  of  his  race.  To  make  sure,  he  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  between  Connor  and  the  damsel,  and  after  that,  he  had  no 
more  trouble;  the  Maguire  did  his  bidding  like  a little  child. 
Well  for  the  Clan  Maguire  that  its  chief  had  Lorcan  at  his  elbow 
that  day,  for  it  took  one  like  him  that  has  knowledge  from  the 
other  world  to  see  aught  of  evil  in  so  fair  a form  as  they  say 
that  lady  had.” 

Netterviile  was  strangely  agitated,  and  muttered  unintelligible 
words  to  himself,  as  he  looked  around  the  dreary  habitation. 
“ Thrice  accursed  walls  !”  were  the  only  words  that  caught  the 
ear,  and  even  so  much  was  not  meant  to  be  heard,  for  the  young 
man,  as  if  recollecting  himself,  glanced  around  with  nervous 
trepidation,  then  broke  into  a wild,  unmeaning  laugh. 

“By  my  faith,  now,  that  is  a pretty  story,”  said  he  with  bois- 
terous gaiety ; “ ’twas  a good  beginning  for  my  Lord  Maguire, 
and,  as  the  old  saw  says,  a good  beginning  maketh  a good  end- 
ing. Yet,  methinks,  the  lord  of  Enniskillen  (which  proud  title 
I hear  he  did  assume)  hath  not  as  yet  much  to  boast  of.  Pity 
the  rack  and  the  dungeon  should  follow  on  so  fair  a track. 


THE  CONFEDEKATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


31 


Noble  ladies,  deign  to  accept  my  poor  thanks  for  your  hospita- 
ble entertainment ” 

“Nay,  speak  not  of  it,  Sir  John!”  said  Judith  with  a lofty 
grace  that  sat  as  well  upon  her  as  though  a royal  roof  covered 
her  head ; “ an’  you  mean  what  you  say,  your  thanks  are  not  due 
to  us  but  rather  to  the  friendly  shelter  of  these  walls — an’  you 
speak  derisively,  I have  but  to  say,  that  the  poverty  of  your  en- 
tertainment is  not  our  fault,  but  our  misfortune.  Farewell,  Sir 
John  Netterville ! I have  heard  much  of  you  from  your  friend 
and  kinsman,  Rory  O’More,  who  hath  much  hope  of  you  as 
a true  champion  of  freedom — see  that  his  hopes  be  not  mis- 
placed, for,  believe  me,  a dreary  doom  worse,  Sir  John,  than 
even  the  rack  or  the  dungeon,  awaits  the  recreant  who  is  false  to 
his  Grod  ! adieu,  young  sir,  Heaven  speed  you  on  your  way  !” 

So  astonished  was  the  Palesman  at  the  singular  words  and  the 
still  more  singular  manner  of  the  speaker,  that  he  left  the  place 
without  farther  speech  to  any  one,  though  his  pale  lips  were  still 
to  be  seen  moving  in  commune  with  himself.  His  abrupt  depar- 
ture was  not  unobserved  by  the  ancient  lady,  whose  dignity  was 
sorely  hurt  by  his  omission  of  such  parting  salute  as  she  deemed 
requisite. 

“ Times  are  strangely  altered,”  said  she,  “ when  the  grandson 
of  Rufus  Netterville  deigns  not  to  say  farewell  to  Eveleen 
Maguire — see  what  it  is,  Judith,  to  be  old  and  poor !” 

But  her  daughter  was  too  much  intent  on  other  matters  to 
notice  either  the  manner  of  the  knight’s  departure  or  her  mother’s 
oifended  dignity.  The  moment  Netterville  was  out  of  sight, 
O’Neill  anxiously  inquired  whether  the  Maguire  referred  to  was 
the  same  who  lay  imprisoned  in  Dublin  Castle. 

“ The  very  same,”  Judith  replied;  “ you  have  heard,  then, 
Colonel  O’Neill,'  of  what  befell  him  and  McMahon  V’ 

“ Surely  I did,  fair  mistress,”  and  he  smiled,  “ nay,  even  to 
poor  Costelloe’s  unlucky  attempt  at  caricaturing  in  the  Justice’s 
hall.  I was  told,  too,  of  the  torture  inflicted  on  both  those<gen- 
tlemen,”  he  added  in  a more  serious  tone,  “ the  which  was  not 
over  pleasant  to  hear,  but  we  of  the  conquered  race  are  happily 
well  exercised  in  the  virtue  of  patience,  and  must  needs  pocket 


32  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 

many  things,  which  others  would  resent  without  a moment’s 
delay.” 

“ Can  nothing  be  done,”  said  Judith  anxiously,  “ on  behalf 
of  those  noble  gentlemen — is  there  no  way  of  effecting  their 

release 

“ I know  of  none  at  the  present  moment,”  O’Neill  replied 
with  habitual  caution,  “ but  the  chances  of  war  may  perchance 
turn  in  their  favor  when  we  least  expect  it.” 

“ If  you  cannot  assist  them,”  said  Judith,  “ their  case  is  hope- 
less.” Looking  up  at  the  moment  she  saw  a smile  on  the  colo- 
nel’s face,  which  somehow  brought  a faint  blush  to  her  own  pale 
cheek,  and  she  quickly  added  in  a more  reserved  tone,  drawing 
back  a step  or  two  at  the  same  time  : 

“ This  young  Norman  knight — pardon  me,  colonel,  if  I ask 
where  he  joined  your  company,  or  what  you  know  of  him  ?’ 

“ Surely  you  may  ask,”  said  the  colonel,  regarding  her  with 
increasing  surprise,  “ although  I be  little  used  to  be  thus  catechised 
by  ladies.  I was  journeying  hither  alone  from  Doe  Castle  where, 
for  the  present,  I have  left  my  companions  in  arms — relying  on 
my  memory  for  safe  conduct  to  Charlemont  Castle,  and  when 
within  a mile  or  so  of  entering  this  now  desert  region,  I came 
up  with  this  Netterville,  as  he  was  making  inquiries  of  a tall 
peasant  whom  I took  for  an  O’Dogherty,  regarding  the  road 
hitherward.  Both  being  clad  in  this  treasonable  fashion,  as  you 
see,  we  naturally  exchanged  a friendly  greeting,  followed  by 
some  cursory  remarks  on  the  weather  and  other  such  common- 
place matters,  when,  finding  that  our  road  lay  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, we  agreed  to  travel  together,  the  more  willingly  when  we 
heard  of  the  present  state  of  this  district.  That  was  the  first  I 
ever  saw  of  Sir  John  Netterville,  or  he  of  me,  so  far  as  I know.” 

“ Trust  him  not !”  said  Judith  with  startling  vehemence  ; “ he 
is  fickle  as  the  wind,  or  I much  mistake,  and  there  is  a fearful 
fountain  of  hate  welling  up  within  him  that  may  one  day  work 
evil  to  others  besides  its  present  object.  See  you  not  that  he 
now  hates  Maguire — no  one  can  tell,  then,  how  soon  that  hatred 
may  extend  itself  to  all  who  are  Maguire’s  friends.  Believe  me, 
oh  champion  of  the  Gael ! no  man  of  his  blood  ever  yet  espoused 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


33 


in  good  faith  the  cause  in  which  you  are  about  to  draw  your 
sword.” 

“ Heaven  grant  you  be  not  a prophetess,  fair  lady  !”  said 
O’Neill  thoughtfully,  as  he  took  her  hand  with  an  air  of  profound 
respect ; “ much  depend  on  these  Palesmen  at  this  hour,  an’  they 
are  but  sincere  in  their  present  endeavors  they  may  do  good  ser- 
vice— for  me,  I would  fain  believe  them  so — but — but — •”  he 
stopped  and  hesitated. 

“ Little  said  is  soon  mended,”  put  in  Judith  with  a smile  that 
lit  up  her  pensive  features;  “God  be  with  you,  colonel,”  she 
added  still  with  the  same  bright  look,  as  he  shook  her  hand  at 
parting,  “ an’  we  never  meet  again  on  earth,  the  memory  of 
this  hour  shall  be  with  us  in  our  solitude, — that  it  was  given  us, 
poor  and  lonely  women,  to  welcome  Owen  O'Neill  to  the  land 
which,  under  God,  he  is  commissioned  to  free,  we  shall  ever  es- 
teem as  a signal  vouchsafement  from  on  high — go  your  ways  now, 
in  God’s  name,  and  I pray  you  overlook  the  delay  caused  by  my 
woman’s  prattle ” 

“Nay,”  said  the  colonel  gallantly,  as  he  approached  to  take 
leave  of  the  old  lady ; “ nay,  surely,  I esteem  not  that  delay 
unprofitable — much  may  it  aid  the  cause  hereafter — ay,  marry,  in 
more  ways  than  one ! Wife  of  O’Cahan,  faro  you  well ! In  your 
prayers  forget  not  Owen  O’Neill  or  those  who  go  up  with  him  to 
battle  for  the  right,  and  believe  me  your  affairs  shall  not  be 
unremembered  by  me.  More  I say  not  now  ! — farewell ! ’ and 
he  turned  to  leave  the  vault  when  the  sound  of  loud  and  angry 
voices  on  the  outside  made  him  stop  to  listen. 

“ Merciful  Heaven  !”  cried  Judith,  “ it  is  his  voice ; oh  ! mo- 
ther ! mother ! hear  you  that  1” 

“ Child,  I do,”  said  the  aged  parent,  “ but  I fear  him  not  now — 
there  be  one  present  whom  he  must  obey — fear  not,  daughter,  for 
God  himself  taking  pity  on  our  misery,  hath  brought  this  meet- 
ing about.” 

Before  the  colonel  could  even  ask  what  it  all  meant,  a hoarse, 
mocking  laugh  re-echoed  through  the  vault,  the  clank  of  heavily- 
ironed  boots  was  heard  approaching,  and  a man’s  voice  cursing 
the  obscurity  of  the  place.  “ By  my  faith,  Sir  John  Netterville,” 
added  the  grumbler,  “there  be  no  Norman  of  the  Pale  fit  to 


34 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


stand  between  me  and  my  liking ! ha ! ha ! a stripling,  with 
scarce  more  than  woman’s  strength,  to  tell  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill 
that  he  needs  must  do  his  bidding — an’  I had  no  mind  to  enter, 
foolish  boy,  I would  see  the  matter  out  were  it  but  to  spite  you.” 

“ Sir  Phelim,  you  shall  answer  for  this !”  cried  Nettervillw 
behind  him  in  the  passage. 

“ Answer  ! to  be  sure  I will,  whensoever  you  choose.”  He  sud- 
denly stopped,  and  the  mocking  laugh  died  away  in  his  throat, 
for  before  him,  full  in  the  red  torchlight,  stood  Owen  O’Neill,  his 
tall  form  drawn  to  its  fullest  ^height,  and  an  angry  frown  knitting 
his  brow.  So  unexpected  was  this  apparition  that  the  turbulent 
knight  of  Kinnard  was  struck  dumb  for  a moment.  Not  even  the 
sight  of  Judith  and  her  mother,  although  his  eye  wandered  to 
both,  could  draw  off  his  spell-bound  attention  from  the  figure 
before  him. 

“ Have  I the  honor  of  seeing  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  1”  said  the  colo- 
nel in  a keenly  sarcastic  tone,  after  the  pair  had  eyed  each  other 
a few  moments  in  silent  scrutiny. 

“ Such  is  my  name ; what  may  yours  be  V* 

“ Somewhat  like  unto  your  own — I am  Owen  O’Neill.” 

“ I thought  as  much,  for  smooth  though  your  face  be,  the 
seal  of  our  race  is  on  your  brow,  and  its  fiery  spirit  burning  in 
your  eye.  Be  you  welcome !” — and  he  reached  out  his  hand 
which  Owen  took  with  an  air  of  condescension  that  must  have 
Jbeen  galling  to  the  pride  of  his  overbearing  kinsman — “ my  errand 
abroad  to-day  was  to  give  you  a meeting,  and  conduct  you  to 
the  presence  of  the  chiefs  assembled  atCharlemont  Castle.  Good 
sooth,  I little  thought  to  find  you  like  Achilles  of  old  amongst 
the  petticoats ! As  for  the  ladies” — there  was  a sneering  em- 
phasis on  the  word — “ I marvel  not  to  see  them  so  located  or  in 
such  a condition,  for  I know  them  to  affect  the  company  of  owls 
and  bats.  Save  you,  good  mother,  and  you,  fair  Judith  ! I’  faith, 
a goo  lly  dwelling  you  have  chosen — the  minister’s,  as  I hope  to 
eat  my  supper — ho  ! ho  ! ho  !” 

“ Better  the  company  of  owls  and  bats  than  that  of  recreant 
knights,”  said  Judith  proudly,  “ and  better  a thousand  times  this 
desolate  ruin  and  freedom  than  castle  or  bower  and  servile 
chains.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


35 


“Well  said,  Judith,”  quoth  Sir  Phelim,  with  another  burst  of 
laughter ; “ you  were  ever  glib  with  that  tongue  of  yours — a 
pretty  hen  old  madam  is,  and  a dainty  chicken  you — good  sooth, 
I much  admire  the  flight  you  took  and  your  wings  cut  so  closely. 
I wish  you  joy  of  your  liberty  !”  The  ironical  tone  in  which  he 
spoke  was  not  lost  on  his  kinsman,  nor  yet  the  sinister  look 
wherewith  he  regarded  both  mother  and  daughter,  the  latter 
especially. 

“ Sir  Phelim  O’Neill !”  said  Owen  with  the  calm,  mild  dignity 
of  a master-spirit,  “ I much  rejoice  to  meet  you  in  this  presence. 
This  young  gentleman  and  I,”  pointing  to  Netterville,  who  stood 
by  in  sullen  silence,  “ being  obliged  by  the  storm  to  take  shelter 
here,  heard  with  amazement,  and,  I must  say,  with  indignation, 
(towards  whom  you  may  guess !)  the  story  of  these  ladies’ 
wrongs.  I now  wish  you  to  understand  that  henceforward  I will 
have  my  eye  on  them — mark  my  words,  Sir  Phelim  ! — and  the 
man  w’ho  dares  insult  their  poverty,  be  he  friend  or  foe,  shall 
answer  to  me  for  the  outrage.  Nay,  no  blustering,  cousin  mine,” 
seeing  that  Sir  Phelim  was  getting  up  a display  of  passion.  “ I 
am  not  the  man  to  be  bullied — swaggering  will  not  do  with  me. 
I am  willing  to  forget  what  is  past,  in  this  matter,  but  only  on 
condition  that  you  leave  these  ladies  free  to  do  as  they  list.” 

“ By  the  soul  of  Heremon !”  said  Sir  Phelim,  in  a tone  of 
affected  good  humor,  “ you  make  over  free  for  the  length  of  our 
acquaintance.  Who  made  you  the  champion  ot  these  ladies  V’  , 
“ My  knightly  honor,”  rejoined  Owen,  “ and  the  fame  and 
honor  of  our  house — also  my  respect  for  the  memory  of  a brave 
and  unfortunate  chieftain.  But  here  we  may  not  longer  tarry — 
I have  told  you  my  mind  on  this  head,  and  as  you  value  my  good 
will  see  that  you  keep  it  in  mind  !” 

Sir  Phelim  nodded  a sort  of  assent,  and  glancing  furtively  at 
Judith,  said  as  he  turned  to  lead  the  way  out:  “ No  need  for  all 
this  pother — the  birds  are  not  worth  the  trouble  of  catching 
them.  Good  betide  you,  noble  dames,  for  all  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill 
cares ; ye  may  wed  these  two  so  valorous  knights  when  ye  list, 
ay,  the  precious  pair  of  you !” 

“ Lead  on  !”  said  Owen  sternly;  “ no  jesting  at  our  expense — 
nay,  Sir  John,  heed  not  his  idle  words — lead  on,  Sir  Phelim — • 


36 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


we  follow.”  The  knight  saw  fit  to  obey  in  silence,  and  the  other 
gentlemen  having  once  more  exchanged  a parting  salute  with 
the  recluses,  all  three  sallied  forth  into  the  clear  sunlight,  where 
a party  of  Sir  Phelim’s  followers  were  in  waiting.  The  cheers 
wherewith  they  greeted  the  appearance  of  Owen  Roe  O’Neill 
made  the  desolate  valley  ring,  and  sent  a thrill  of  joy  through 
the  heart  that  seemed  cold  and  passionless. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


37 


CHAPTER.  III. 

**  No ! when  the  battle  rages  dire, 

And  the  roused  soul  is  all  on  fire, 

Think’st  thou  a noble  heart  can  stay 
Hate’s  rancorous  inpulse  to  obey  7” 

Mrs.  Holford’s  Margaret  of  Anjou. 

“ What  shall  he  be  ere  night  7 Perchance  a thing 
O’er  which  the  raven  flaps  his  funeral  wing!” 

Byron’s  Corsair. 

It  was  three  months  before  the  date  of  the  events  recorded  in 
our  last  chapter,  when  the  long  dreary  season  of  winter  had 
passed  away,  and  spring-time  gladdened  the  earth,  sending  -the 
rills  and  rivulets  laughing  on  their  way,  and  making  the  woods 
and  meadows  vocal  with  the  song  of  birds.  The  cuckoo,  “ har- 
binger of  spring,”  made  the  woods  of  Carrick  resound  with  her 
one  welcome  note,  and  the  lovely  Suir  was  more  radiant  even 
than  its  wont  in'silver  sheen  bedight.  All  without  and  around 
the  ancient  castle  of  the  Butlers  was  bright  and  balmy,  fresh 
and  fragrant  as  the  April  day  could  make  it,  and  the  day  was 
the  loveliest  of  the  season,  just  such  another  as  queer,  quaint  old 
Herbert  lovingly  eulogizes : 

“ Swe  t day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky,” 

yet,  for  all  the  beauty  of  the  outward  scene,  there  was  little  of 
joy  or  “ sweet  content”  within  that  lordly  dwelling.  The  Count- 
ess sat  with  her  infant  daughter  in  her  arms — in  those  good  old 
times  even  a Countess  thought  it  nowise  vulgar  to  be  seen  with 
her  children  on  her  right  honorable  knee  or  even  clasped  in  her 


38 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


je welle  I arms — so  the  Countess  sat  with  her  infant  on  her  knee 
at  an  open  window,  and  although  her  eyes  wandered  at  times 
over  the  fair  scene  without,  it  was  not  that  she  enjoyed  its  beauty, 
or  dwelt  upon  its  charms.  Deep  sadness  was  seated  on  her  lofty 
brow,  and  albeit  that  Elizabeth  of  Ormond  was  not  much  given 
to  the  “melting  mood,”  a close  observer,  had  there  been  any 
such,  might  have  noticed  a tear  now  and  then  stealing  down  her 
cheek  as  she  bent  over  the  slumbering  babe  on  whose  face  she 
gazed  so  fondly.  And  wherefore  was  the  noble  lady  sad  on  that 
bright  spring  morning  when  all  nature  was  glad  1 Alas ! she 
deemed  her  dejection  not  without  cause,  for  she  knew  that  the 
dawn  of  that  fair  day  had  seen  her  lord  set  out  from  Dublin  with 
a gallant  army  to  wage  war  against  the  Confederate  forces  of 
Leinster.  Whatever  Ormond  might  be  unto  others,  to  her,  at 
least,  and  to  his  children,  he  was  all  that  a husband  and  father 
ought  to  be,  and  dreary  was  the  void  which  his  absence  ever  left 
in  the  domestic  circle.  But  what  was  the  tedium,  the  weariness 
of  absence  to  the  heart-wearing  fears  of  a soldier’s  wife  when 
her  husband  went  forth 

“ — To  the  wars,  to  the  red  field  of  fight,” 

where  death  wras  certain  to  many  and  esQape  to  none.  What 
though  helm  and  plume,  and  pennon  gay,  and  the  tramp  of  war- 
like men  made  a gallant  show  as  Ormond’s  army  moved  along, 
or  that  Ormond  himself  waved  the  proudest  plume  and  wore  the 
noblest  mien — it  mattered  not  to  the  loving  and  pitying  heart  of 
Elizabeth,  for  her  eyes  were  not  gladdened  by  the  proud  array, 
while  her  soul  was  full  of  the  bitter  thought  that  the  stately 
form  of  her  husband  might  at  any  moment  be  struck  down  by 
the  rude  pike  of  some  low-born  hind.  And  to  do  the  Countess 
justice  we  needs  must  tell  that  her  sorrow  was  not  altogether  of 
a selfish  nature.  Her  sympathies  were  still  in  great  part  with 
the  Catholics  struggling  for  their  rights,  and  she  wished  that 
Ormond  had  not  been  sent  on  what  she  justly  considered  a mis- 
sion of  destruction. 

“ Alas ! alas !”  sighed  the  lady,  “ that  a heart  so  generous  as 
Ormond’s  to  all  besides  should  be  so  hard  and  pitiless  in  regard 
to  the  Catholics ! — child ! child !”  and  again  her  tears  fell  on  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


39 


infant’s  face,  “ to  think  that  your  father  should  be  made  to 
play  the  part  of  a Coote,  an  Inchiquin,  and  a Broghill ! Oh  ! 
woe  is  me,  that  his  children  should  inherit  the  curse  of  an  op- 
pressed nation ! — -what,  Emmeline ! are  there  tidings  so  soon  ? — • 
you  seem  excited.” 

“No  tidings  from  the  Earl,  madam,  that  I know  of,”  said  the 
person  thus  addressed,  a pale  but  very  lovely  girl  who  had  just 
entered  thqproom  in  what  appeared  no  small  trepidation. 

“From  whom,  or  where,  then?”  demanded  the  Countess  with 
a searching  glance  at  her  pallid  face ; “ some  news  I read  on 
that  tell-tale  face — out  with  it,  pretty  one ! be  it  what  it  may ! — 
stay — let  me  look  at  you — tell  me,  Emmeline ! have  you  heard 
from  Dublin  ?” 

“ That  have  I not,”  the  fair  girl  replied,  “the  news  concerns 
us  all — not  as  your  ladyship  seems  to  suppose,  only  myself. 
Prepare  yourself,  madam,  to  hear  what  I would  that  other  lips 
than  mine  had  to  tell.” 

Hearing  this  the  Countess  laughed.  “ Why,  lady-bird,  an’  the 
news  affects  not  my  absent  lord,  nor  another  whose  name  we 
name  not,  how  can  it  concern  us  all ?” 

“ Think  a moment,  gracious  madam!  and  your  keen  wit  may 
remind  you  of  other  dangers  to  be  apprehended  now  even  by 
ourselves !” 

“Great  God!  you  cannot  mean  the  approach  of  the — of  the 
rebels? — speak,  Emmeline, — do  you  mean  that?"  and  firm  and 
self-possessed  as  the  Countess  usually  was,  she  turned  pale  and 
actually  trembled. 

“ Madam,  I do  mean  that,”  the  girl  replied  ; “ little  as  we 
looked  for  their  coming,  it  appears  they  are  close  at  hand. 
Hearing,  I suppose,  of  your  lord’s  departure  from  Dublin  this 
morning  on  the  Leinster  campaign,  they  have  taken  it  into  their 
thick  heads  to  be  even  with  him,  by  revenging  themselves  on  * 
his  family  and  the  walls  of  his  castle.  Truly,  such  a barbarous 
device  well  becomes  traitorous  rebels!  But  your  ladyship  is 
faint.  I pray  you  summon  up  that  high  courage  which  I know 
you  to  possess — let  me  summon  your  attendants — nay,  madam 
it  may  yet  be  possible  to  escape !” 

“Not  so,  Emmeline,  not  so, — there  is  none — none — none — my 


40 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


heart  tells  me  we  are  all  to  perish — or  worse— worse — and  you, 
too,  daughter  of  my  dearest  friend ! that  you  should  be  here  to 
share  our  wretched  fate •” 

“ But,  madam,  they  will  not,  perchance,  dare ” 

“ I tell  you  they  will  dare  all — too  glad  to  revenge  themselves 
on  James  Butler  whom  they  look  upon  with  deadlier  hate  as  a 
renegade  from  their  religion ! Heavens  above ! they  are  in  the 
park — they  surround  the  house  even  now ! Emmeline ! go  you 
to  my  children — gather  them  together,  with  all  th<? women  of 
the  household,  and  I will  join  you  anon  when  I have  conferred 
with  the  captain  of  the  guard.” 

Some  half  dozen  of  terrified  female  domestics,  now  rushed 
unbidden  to  their  lady’s  presence,  bemoaning  the  sad  fate  which 
awaited  them,  and  refusing  to  believe  that  escape  of  any  kind 
was  still  possible.  A few  words  of  stern  command  from  the 
Countess  had  the  effect  of  stopping  their  clamor,  at  least,  and 
with  an  assurance  that  all  hope  was  not  yet  lost,  she  dismissed 
them  with  the  infant  to  join  the  general  assembly  of  the  house- 
hold convoked  by  her  orders.  Emmeline  still  lingered,  and  the 
Countess,  forgetful  of  her  previous  request,  seemed  desirous  to 
have  her  remain. 

“ Could  we  but  see  any  of  their  leaders,”  said  the  Countess 
anxiously,  as  she  moved  somewhat  nearer  one  of  the  windows, 
“ we  might  the  better  guess  what  awaits  us  ; who,  think  you,  are 
they  V’ 

“ One  of  them  I know,  at  least,”  said  the  fair  Emmeline  from 
the  recess  of  another  window  ; “ sees  not  your  ladyship  the  But- 
ler arms  on  yonder  flag 

“ Child,  you  are  right,”  said  the  Countess,  and  she  drew  a long 
breath  like  one  much  relieved;  “ Mountgaret  is  there — oh!  re- 
creant scion  of  the  Butlers  !” 

. The  door  of  the  apartment  just  then  opened,  and  a message 
was  delivered  from  the  officer  in  command  of  the  garrison  re- 
questing permission  to  speak  with  her  ladyship. 

“ I was  just  going  in  search  of  you,  Captain  Jameson,”  said 
the  Countess  with  a condescending  bow,  “ with  a view  to  ascer- 
tain whether  it  were  possible  to  hold  the  Castle  against  yonder 
rebels.  I fear  me  much  that  from  • an  over  sense  of  security, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


41 


still  more  than  his  frequent  absence,  my  lord  the  Earl  hath  not 
given  due  attention  of  late  to  the  defences  of  the  house.  How 
is  it,  Captain  'l  Be  the  chances  for  or  against  usT’ 

“ Against  us,  madam,  as  far  as  I am  able  to  judge,”  returned  the 
gentlemanly  officer,  the  same  whom  we  have  seen  retiring  from 
the  service  in  disgust  because  of  the  wanton  cruelties  of  Coote. 

My  good  lord  hath,  as  you  say,  somewhat  neglected  the  affairs 
of  the  garrison,  notwithstanding  that  I made  bold  to  remind  him 
by  letter  of  the  same  more  than  once  or  twice.  Having  the  de-* 
fence  of  the  kingdom  in  hand,  it  is  little  wonder  if  he  forgot  to 
examine  into  the  capabilities  of  this  his  noble  Castle  for  sustain- 
ing a siege.” 

“ He  deemed  it  nowise  likely,”  said  the  Countess,  “ that  the 
rebels  should  make  such  head  here  in  Munster  under  the  eye  of 
stout  St.  Leger,  but,  wo  is  me  ! that  his  wonted  prudence  should 
fail  in  such  wise,  knowing  that  the  chief  lords  of  the  country 
are  now  in  open  rebellion — know  you  the  strength  of  the  enemy, 
Captain  1” 

“ That  I have  not  been  able  as  yet  to  ascertain,  madam,  but  I 
should  judge  it  to  be  considerable  since  they  make  bold  to  at- 
tack this  Castle  of  Carrick,  and  likewise  from  the  officers  of  dis- 
tinction whom  I see  with  them.” 

Here  the  trumpet  sounded  for  a parley,  and  Captain  Jameson 
hastened  to  the  ramparts.  During  his  short  absence,  Lady  Or- 
mond went  to  see  her  children,  and  calm  their  infant  fears, 
excited  to  agony  by  the  senseless  ravings  of  their  English  attend- 
ants, to  whose  terror-stricken  fancy  the  clansmen  of  Munster 
assumed  the  proportions  and  almost  the  propensities  of  the  giants 
of  nursery  lore.  Leaving  the  Countess  to  reassure  the  frighten- 
ened  children,  and  equally  frightened  domestics,  as  best  she 
might,  in  the  presence  of  the  awful  fact  that  “ Mountgarret’s 
men”  were  in  untold  numbers  round  the  house,  let  us  return  to 
the  fair  Emmeline  thus  left  alone. 

During  the  brief  colloquy  between  the  Countess  and  Captain 
Jameson  the  young  lady  had  kept  her  station  in  the  window, 
watching  intently  the  movements  of  the  besiegers.  All  unnoticed 
by  her  were  the  furtive  glances  of  admiration  sent  in  her  direc- 
tion by  the  Captain,  who  was  not  unknown  to  her,  although  it 


42 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


happened  that  she  was  to  him.  Whatever  her  thoughts  might 
have  been,  she  kept  them  to  herself,  but  no  sooner  had  Lady 
Ormond  left  the  room,  than  she  began  to  commune  with  herself 
in  a half  audible  tone. 

“ Of  a surety,  an’  the  Castle  be  taken,  as  I much  fear  it  will, 
for  I see  they  have  no  lack  of  cannon  or  aught  that  is  needful 
— an’  the  place  be  taken,  my  presence  here  might  make  it  go 
hard  with  the  Countess  and  her  dear  children.  Whatsoever  treat- 
ment they  fnay  have  a mind  to  give  to  Lord  Ormond’s  family, 
mercy  I could  not  look  for  at  their  hands.  And  yet” — her  beau- 
tiful face  brightened  for  a moment,  but  the  ray  of  light  passed 
quickly  away — “ few  there  are  among  their  motley  host  like 
unto  him . No ! no  ! I will  not,  cannot  risk  the  chance  of  draw- 
ing deadlier  vengeance  on  my  honored  friend  and  her  helpless 
children.  But  how — how — to  escape  unseen!  Try  it  I must, 
however,  relying  on  God’s  assistance.  Now  for  a disguise — God 
direct  me  which  to  choose !” 

Meanwhile  the  Castle  had  been  summoned  to  surrender  in  the 
name  of  the  Catholic  army  of  Munster,  to  which  Jameson  replied, 
as  a brave  officer  should,  that  if  they  desired  to  have  it  they 
must  take  it,  for  given  up  willingly  it  never  should  be — so  loug 
as  a man  remained  to  defend  it. 

“ Then  you  are  willing  to  expose  Lady  Ormond  and  her  family 
to  the  dangers  of  a siege  Vy  said  an  officer,  evidently  of  rank, 
who,  with  a herald  bearing  a white  flag,  approached  within  ear- 
shot. 

“ The  Countess  is  much  beholden  to  you,  for  your  kind  consi- 
deration,” made  answer  Captain  Jameson,  with  cool  irony,  “ but 
she  prefers  rather  to  run  such  risk,  trusting  to  the  strength  of 
these  walls,  than  to ” 

“ To  what  1”  demanded  the  Irish  officer  sternly  ; “ I am  ready 
to  pledge  my  word  of  honor  that  in  case  you  give  up  the  castle 
quietly,  her  ladyship  and  every  member  of  her  household  shall 
have  safe  convoy  to  Dublin  or  wheresoever  she  may  please  to 
appoint.  An’  you  rashly  resolve  to  hold  out,  the  consequences 
be  on  your  own  head.  We  are  not  ignorant,  as  you  may 
suppose,  of  your  actual  strength,  and  are,  therefore,  not  to  be 
deceived  by  idle  boasting.  Our  strength  you  see,  or  rather  you 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


43 


do  not  see  its  full  extent,  but,  believe  me,  it  is  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  take  Carrick  Castle — ay  ! even  were  Ormond  himself  of 
the  garrison ” 

Jameson’s  practised  eye  was  not  slow  to  perceive  that  this  at 
least  was  no  idle  boast,  for  no  one  knew  better  than  he  that  the 
strength  of  the  building  was  more  apparent  than  real.  Had  not 
the  safety  of  Lady  Ormond  and  her  children  been  in  question,  he 
might  have  ventured  to  hold  out  in  hopes  of  succor,  but  the 
stake  was  too  heavy  to  be  risked  on  his  own  responsibility,  and 
he  felt  that  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  his  painful  duty  to 
capitulate.  The  Countess  was  of  the  same  opinion,  notwithstand- 
ing her  unwillingness  to  have  it  told  that  Ormond’s  Castle  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  rebels.  Charged  with  full  power  to  capitu- 
late in  the  name  of  Lady  Ormond,  the  captain  returned  to  the 
ramparts.  The  herald  still  waited  without,  and  the  officer  who 
had  beforb  spoken,  immediately  rode  up,  accompanied  by  two 
others. 

“ Before  the  noble  Countess  of  Ormond  can  entertain  any  pro* 
posals,”  said  Captain  Jameson,  “ she  desires  to  know  whose  word 
it  is  that  she  has  to  depend  upon  for  safety  and  protection  !” 

“ I had  thought,”  returned  the  officer  proudly,  “ that  yonder 
heraldic  device,”  pointing  to  the  flag  already  noticed  by  those 
within  the  castle,  “ had  sufficiently  informed  the  wife  of  James 
Butler.  An’  she  needs  must  have  a name,  tell  her  it  is  Colonel 
Edmund  Butler  who  commands  these  forces — being  so.  little  in- 
formed on  the  subject,”  he  added,  in  a sarcastic  tone,  “ Lady  Or- 
mond may  require  to  be  told  that  Lord  Mountgarret  is  my  father 
— and — I am  his  son  ! — she  will,  I hope,  deem  my  plighted  word 
sufficient  security — but,  hark  you  ! sir,  we  are  somewhat  pressed 
for  time,  and  must  be  so  far  wanting  in  courtesy  as  to  demand  a 
speedy  answer !” 

In  a very  few  minutes  the  Captain  returned  with  a definitive 
answer  that  Elizabeth  of  Ormond  was  well  content  to  trust  in  the 
honor  and  good  faith  of  her  much-esteemed  cousin,  Colonel  But- 
ler, whose  proposal  she  would  willingly  accept,  hoping  that  in 
his  hands  the  castle  should  sustain  as  little  injury  as- might  be. 

The  Colonel  was  only  too  happy  to  take  charge  of  the  place 
on  such  terms,  “ although,”  as  he  jocularly  remarked  to  Lord 


44 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Skerrin  who  was  with  him  at  the  moment,  “ my  fair  kinswoman 
may  make  her  mind  easy  on  that  head,  inasmuch  hs,  with  God’s 
Jielp,  the  care  of  the  house  shall  never  more  rest  on  her  should- 
ers— her  much-esteemed  cousin ! — ha  ! ha ! truly,  the  noble  Coun- 
tess hath  small  cause  to  esteem  any  of  our  house  at  this  present, 
seeing  that  my  father  hath  taken  her  castle  of  Kilkenny,  and 
his  son  her  castle  of  Carrick  ! Fitzpatrick  !”  to  a young  lieuten- 
ant near  him,  “ have  the  goodness  to  see  what  is  going  forward 
around  yonder  postern ! our  men  seem  in  a sort  of  commotion 
there.  Stay,  I will  e’en  see  for  myself.” 

Before  the  Colonel  had  reached  the  sally  port,  he  was  met 
by  some  of  his  own  men  with  a prisoner  wnom  they  had  taken 
lurking  in  the  shade  of  the  walls,  and  who  craved  speech  of  the 
Irish  commander. 

“He  is  a retainer  of  the  house,”  said  one  of  the  soldiers  in 
Irish. 

“ So  I perceive,”  said  the  Colonel,”  but  what  is  your  business 
out,  good  fellow  V’ 

“ That  will  I tell  your  noble  lordship  full  quickly,”  replied  the 
Ormond  servitor  in  a voice  trembling  either  with  fear  or  some 
other  emotion,  “an’  you  grant  me  a private  hearing — I like  not 
the  looks  of  these  followers  or  yours,  and  what  I have  to  say 
may  not  reach  their  ears  !” 

“ A deserter,  by  St.  Bridget's  girdle  !”  said  Fitzpatrick  aloud  to 
a brother  officer,  and  the  word  went  round  from  man  to  man 
with  a boisterous  roar  of  merriment,  as  the  stout  clansmen 
of  Munster  and  the  equally  stout  Normans  of  the  Pale  eyed 
with  contempt  the  fragile  and  drooping  form  of  the  youthful 
prisoner. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  lad  which 
attracted  the  Colonel’s  attention,  and  perhaps  excited  his  suspi- 
cions, so,  telling  the  same  party  wno  had  taken  him  to  follow  at 
a little  distance,  he  dismounted  and  led  the  way  to  where  a 
clump  of  trees  screened  them  from  observation. 

“ Speak  on  now — I listen !”  said  the  Colonel,  “ but  first  I 
would  see  your  face.” 

“You  would  know  me  none  the  better,  though  you  saw  it. 
You  suspect  some  disguise,  and  you  are  right— I am  not  what  I 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


45 


seem,  but  rather  a distressed  damsel  coming  to  claim  the  knight- 
ly protection  of  Colonel  Butler  !” 

“ An’  you  come  from  within  the  Castle,”  said  the  officer  with 
a polite  bow,  trying  at  the  same  time  to  catch  a glimpse  of  the 
face  under  the  slouched  hat,  “an’  you  come  from  within  the 
Castle,  fair  lady,  you  might  surely  have  spared  yourself  this  trou- 
ble, seeing  that  my  ‘ knightly  protection,’  as  you  say,  is  already 

pledged  for  the  safety  of  the  female  inmates ” 

“ It  is  well,  and  I joy  to  hear  it,  Colonel,”  said  the  lady,  “ but 
unhappily  I have  reason  to  fear  that  my  presence,  if  known  to 
your  people,  would  endanger  the  safety  of  which  you  speak- 
lienee  it  is  that  I am  here.” 

“ Who,  in  God’s  name,  are  you  then  1”  cried  the  Colonel  in 
surprise,  “ that  you  hold  yourself  beyond  the  pale  of  Irish  honor 
or  generosity  V* 

Drawing  a step  or  two  nearer,  so  as  to  lessen  the  chances  of 
being  overheard,  Emmeline — for  she  it  was — gave  her  name  and 
parentage  in  full. 

Colonel  Butler  heard  her  with  a blanched  cheek  and  an  omin- 
ous start.  “ By  our  Lady  ! but  that  alters  the  matter  !” — he  said 
with  a thoughtful  air — “ I marvel  not  that  you  feared  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Catholic  soldiers.  The  knowledge  of  your  lineage 
might  tempt  them  sorely,  but  as  God  liveth,  lady,  they  would  not 
harm  you — no,  not  even  your  father’s  daughter.” 

“ Still  I would  rather  not  trust  them,  Colonel  !’* 

“ I tell  you,”  said  the  chivalrous  Butler,  .somewhat  nettled  at 
her  want  of  confidence,  “ I tell  you,  fair  mistress  ! there  is  not  a 
man  in  yonder  force,  that  would  harm  a hair  of  your  head,  were 
I even  to  tell  them  who  you  are,  if  so  be  that  they  knew  you  had 
thrown  yourself  on  us  for  protection.” 

“ I implore  you,  Colonel  Butler,  put  them  not  to  what  they 

might  deem  so  hard  a test ” 

“ How  would  you  have  me  dispose  of  you,”  interrupted  the 
Colonel — “ I see  my  presence  is  again  required — lady,  speak  your 
wishes !” 

“ An’  it  so  please  you,  gallant  sir,  I would  be  sent  to  the  nun- 
nery  in  the  town  within,  until  such  time  as  I can  safely  be  con- 
veyed to  Dublin.” 


46 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ That  is  just  where  I purpose  placing  the  Countess  and  her 
family,”  said  the  Colonel,  “until  I have  heard  from  my  lord  ox 
Ormond.  I pray  you  excuse  me  for  a moment !”  Calling  to  one 
of  the  men  whom  he  had  stationed  near,  he  desired  that  Sir  John 
Netterville  might  come  to  him.  The  message  had  hardly  time 
to  be  delivered  when  that  young  officer  made  his  appearance, 
with  a gay  : “ What  would  you,  Colonel 

“ I am  about  to  honor  you  with  a mission  of  trust,  Sir  John,” 
the  Colonel  replied  with  a good-humored  smile.  Lowering  his 
voice  almost  to  a whisper,  he  told  him  : “ You  are  to  convey  this 
prisoner  without  loss  of  time  to  the  convent  in  Carrick.  Take 
a small  party  with  you  for  escort — or  stay — yourself  will  be 
quite  sufficient  with  one  attendant  to  bring  back  the  horse  we 
send  with  the  prisoner — there  be  little  danger  of  a rescue — ha  ! 
ha  ! ha  ! — you  understand  me,  I hope  !” 

“ Not  over  well,  Colonel,  but  your  bidding  shall  be  done.  By 
my  faith,  though,  the  errand  is  not  so  honorable  as  you  would 
have  me  believe — at  least,  on  the  face  of  it !”  And  he  glanced 
with  a humorous  eye  at  the  somewhat  shabby  exterior  of  the 
serving-man  of  the  house  of  Ormond  whom  he,  a knight  and  a 
noble,  Avas  ordered  to  escort.  A horse  was  quickly  prepared  for 
the  prisoner,  and,  to  the  no  small  amusement  of  his  brother  offi- 
cers, Netterville  trotted  off  as  his  guard  to  the  town. 

To  say  the  truth  the  young  noble  was  not  altogether  pleased 
at  being  selected  for  what  seemed  so  ridiculous  a mission,  and, 
to  the  great  satisfaction  of  his  charge,  he  spoke  not  a word  dur- 
ing their  brief  journey.  When  the  old  bridge  was  passed,  and 
great  part  of  the  main  street  of  the  town,  the  knight  drew  up  at 
the  gate  of  the  convent,  on  the  corner  of  one  of  the  cross  streets, 
and  then  it  was  that  his  prisoner  raised  the  slouched  hat  and 
disclosed  to  his  astonished  escort  features  indelibly  engraved 
in  his  heart. 

“Now,  Sir  John  Netterville,”  said  the  lady  with  a bright  blush 
on  her  delicate  cheek,  “ now,  you  can  claim  admission  for  me. 
I own  it  did  seem  rather  foolish,  escorting  a lacquey  of  the  house 
of  Ormond  to  a convent  for  protection,  but  now  I hope  you  are 
satisfied  that  Colonel  Butler  really  meant  to  pay  you  a compli- 
ment. For  my  own  part,  I am  much  beholden  to  you — indeed, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


47 


Sir  John,  I am — and  would  to  God  I might  in  any  way  contribute 
to  make  you  ha&py — hut  that  the  fates  have  forbidden  ! — fare 
you  well ! Sir  John  Netterville  ! my  father  himself  may.  one  day 
thank  you  for  this  most  signal  service !” 

“ Great  Heavens  ! is  it  you  then — you,  Emmeline — whom  I have 
had  near  me  so  long ! — cruel  as  you  are,  you  will  not  go  without 
telling  me  what  this  means — najq  I implore  you,  tell  me ! — alas ! 
how  little  dreamed  I that  yonder  castle  of  the  Butlers  held  so 
rich  a prize  ! But  tell  me  why  this  secret  departure — why  this 
ha.se  disguise'?” 

I In  very  few  words  Emmeline  explained,  and  by  that  time  the 
aged  portress  had  hobbled  to  the  door,  asking  through  a small 
grating  who  waited  without.  Being  told  that  a lady  was  there 
for  whom  Colonel  Edmund  Butler  demanded  shelter  and  protec- 
tion, the  venerable  dame  waddled  away  again,  but  returned  in  a 
few  moments  with  a message  that  the  reverend  mother  was  only 
too  happy  to  oblige  Colonel  Butler.  The  key  grated  in  the  rusty 
lock,  and  Emmeline  threw  herself  lightly  from  the  horse,  and 
after  exchanging  a friendly  farewell  with  the  knight,  stepped 
across  the  threshold,  forgetful  of  her  disguise.  It  was  only 
when  reminded  of  it  by  the  old  woman’s  exclamation  of  surprise, 
that  she  unbuckled  her  girdle  with  a smile,  and  the  borrowed 
feathers  falling  off,  she  stood  before  the  guardian  of  the  gate  in 
a rich  but  sober  female  costume.  A grunt  of  satisfaction  escaped 
the  lips  of  the  fat  portress,  as  she  closed  the  door  on  the  young 
knight,  and  shut  in,  it  might  be,  for  ever  from  his  eyes,  the 
graceful  form  of  Emmeline,  the  long  and  vainly  loved. 

Two  hours  after,  Carrick  Castle  was  delivered  to  the  Confeder- 
ate force,  the  Countess  of  Ormond,  her  children  and  servants, 
sent  for  the  present  to  the  Convent,  over  which  a strong  guard 
was  placed,  and  the  garrison  permitted  to  march  out  in  good  order 
and  betake  themselves  whither  they  listed. 

Messengers  were  instantly  dispatched  by  Colonel  Butler  to 
Lord  Ormond  acquainting  him  with  what  had  taken  place,  and 
desiring  to  know  whither  he  would  have  his  family  conveyed. 
It  was  the  evening  of  the  following  day  when  Lieutenant  Fitz- 
patrick returned  with  the  answer  to  the  Castle,  now  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Confederates  in  that  section  of  the  country. 


48 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord  Ormond,  he  said,  when  he  did,  at  length,  overtake  him, 
refused  to  receive  Colonel  Butler’s  epistle,  alleging  that  he  could 
hold  no  communication  with  rebels.  Nettled  at  this,  the  reckless 
young  officer  told  him  very  bluntly  what  had  happened,  asking 
in  an  ironical  tone  whether  his  lordship  would  condescend,  after 
that,  to  read  the  Colonel’s  letter. 

“ Not  on  any  account,”  was  the  answer,  which  the  Earl  took 
care  should  be  heard  by  many  of  his  officers ; “ my  wife  and 
family  are  in  God’s  keeping,  and  even  for  their  sakes,  I may  not 
encourage  rebellion  by  holding  written  communication  with 
them.”  ^ 

“ This  is  your  lordship’s  final  answer'?” 

“ It  is,  so  help  me  Heaven !” 

“ Let  me  tell  you,  then,  my  lord  earl,”  returned  the  hot- 
blooded  young  Ossory  man,  “ you  may  reckon  over  much  on 
Colonel  Butler’s  generosity  and  forbearance.  Sending  such  an 
answer  you  surely  must  forget  the  number  of  blackened  walls 
and  ruined  homesteads  which  mark  your  track  !” 

“What  said  the  Earl  to  that?”  demanded  the  Colonel  with 
ominous  composure. 

“ He  said  I would  do  well  to  keep  my  tongue  from  wagging  so 
glibly,  and  bade  me  to  be  thankful  that  I was  suffered  to  escape 
with  impunity;  commanding  me  at  the  same  time  to  quit  his 
presence  instantly,  a command  which  I had  no  temptation  to  re- 
sist, knowing  that  you  were  anxiously  awaiting  an  answer.’' 

Colonel  Butler,  although  some  years  younger  than  his  kins- 
man, Ormond,  was  not  without  a share  of  Ormond’s  prudence, 
so  that  when  questioned  by  Lord  Skerrin  and  others  of  the  offi- 
cers as  to  what  he  purposed  doing,  he  merely  answered  that  his 
mind  was  not  yet  made  up.  Early  next  morning,  however,  he 
repaired  in  person  to  the  Convent,  and  having  told  the  Countess 
of  her  husband’s  heartless  conduct,  he  ended  by  saying : 

“ Your  ladyship  and  all  those  of  your  company,  are,  however, 
free, — free  to  go  where  and  when  you  will.  We,  at  least,  war  not 
against  women  and  children.” 

“ Colonel  Butler,”  said  the  Countess  with  much  emotion, 

“ Elizabeth  of  Ormond  thanks  you,  and  will  be  mindful  of  your 
generosity  while  her  heart  continues  to  beat.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


49 


“ Oh  recreant  scion  of  the  Butlers !”  said  Emmeline  softly  at 
her  elbow,  and  the  arch  girl  shook  her  finger  playfully  in  the 
face  of  her  noble  friend,  “ even  recreants,  you  see,  are  at  times 
exceeding  useful!”  Then  aloud,  she,  too,  tendered  her  best 
thanks  to  the  Colonel. 

Half  an  hour  after  that,  Lady  Ormond  with  her  young  friend, 
her  children  and  servants,  were  journeying  rapidly  towards 
Dublin,  escorted  by  a troop  of  Irish  cavalry.  What  thoughts 
coursed  each  other  through  the  mind  of  those  two  Protestant  ladies 
as  they  travelled  in  safety  under  such  protection  the  reader  may 
easily  imagine. 

Four  weeks  had  barely  passed  away  after  the  taking  of  Car- 
rick  Castle,  when  Emmeline  and  her  mother  were  summoned 
from  a saloon  of  Dublin  Castle,  crowded  with  the  beauty  and 
fashion  of  the  metropolis,  to  receive,  at  their  own  gate,  a mourn- 
ful cortege,  bearing  home  the  body  of  the  husband  and  father 
from  the  scene  of  his  tragic  end — a tyrant  even  in  his  own 
family,  the  man  had  not  one  fond  heart  to  mourn  his  loss,  yet 
the  manner  of  his  death  was  so  awfully  sudden,  and  the  tidings 
came  so  unxexpectedly,  that  all  were  filled  with  horror,  if  not 
with  grief.  The  pale  sorrow-worn  wife,  however,  who  might 
well  have  considered  his  death  a boon,  could  not  help  remember- 
ing with  a softening  heart  the  thirty  odd  years  they  had  past 
together,  and  the  sunny  days  of  her  early  married  life  ere  the 
pursuit  of  arms  had  developed  the  latent  cruelty  of  her  consort, 
and  made  his  heart  hard  to  all  human  pity.  His  two  sons,  men 
of  strong  robust  frame  and  iron  will  like  their  father,  were  too 
fully  imbued  with  his  spirit  not  to  feel  a burning  thirst  for 
revenge,  and  (if  that  were  possible)  a deadlier  hatred  of  the 
already  detested  Catholics.  Such  were  the  varied  feelings  of 
the  mother  and  her  sons,  but  for  Emmeline,  the  only  daughter 
of  that  house,  what  she  felt  was  not  so  easily  defined,  and  more- 
over it  lay  farther  beneath  the  surface. 

It  was  a strange  sight  to  see  the  stately  matron  and  her  beau- 
tiful daughter  receiving  that  grisly  corpse ; they  radiant  with 
jewels  and  floating,  as  it  were,  in  a mist  of  rich  lace  and  gauzy 
silk,*  the  dead  wrapped  in  his  bloody  war-cloak,  his  grey  locks 

* We  are  told  by  Walker,  quoting  aa  English  author,  that  the 

13 


50 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


matted  with  gore.  His  sons,  too,  in  their  brilliant  court-uni- 
form, presented  a strange  contrast  with  him  whom  they  had  so 
often  followed  to  victory,  as  they  stood  there  side  by  side  with 
folded  arms  and  knitted  brows  looking  sternly  down  on  the 
unsightly  form  before  them.  Oh!  it  was  a strange  scene,  a 
sad  and  solemn  scene,  its  awful  silence  seldom  broken  by  word 
or  groan,  or  sigh.  Passion  was  at  work  under  various  forms  in 
the  depth  of  every  heart,  but  its  workings  were  kept  far  down 
below  the  surface  by  the  stern  strong  will  that  governed  each. 

It  was  night  when  the  corpse  was  brought  home,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  those  people  then,  as  now,  it  was  laid  out 
in  solemn  lonely  state  in  one  of  the  principal  apartments,  with 
two  great  wax  tapers  at  the  head  and  two  more  at  the  feet.  At 
the  lonely  hour  of  midnight,  when  the  weary  watchers  in  the 
ante-room  wrere  fast  asleep,  Emmeline  stood  like  a white-robed 
spirit  by  the  couch  of  death,  her  pale  face  looking  paler  still 
under  the  long  tresses  of  fair  silky  hair  which  hung  over  her 
shoulders  in  wild  disorder.  Her  eyes  were  stony  and  fixed  as 
those  of  a statue,  and  her  clasped  hands  rested  against  her 
bosom — the  whole  figure  motionless  and  silent  as  though  no 
breath  of  life  warmed  the  heart  within. 

At  last  the  beautiful  lips  parted  and  a sigh,  a deep-drawn  sigh, 
came  forth,  and  another  moment’s  pause,  and  Emmeline  spoke 
in  a low  murmuring  voice  like  the  whisper  of  ocean-shells  : 

“ Fattier,  blame  me  not  if  my  words  were  prophetic ! — thou 
knowest,  oh!  author  of  my  days  ! that  it  was  a fiendish  act,  and 
the  groans  of  his  anguish  rent  my  heart  asunder — but  still — still 
— I was  wrong — oh  ! how  -wrong  to  speak  such  bitter  words  for 
a father’s  ear ! — alas ! alas ! I deemed  not  then  that  the  dark 
hour  was  so  near  at  hand  ! God  pity  you,  my  father,  as  you  lie 
there  with  a mountain  weight  of  blood  upon  your  soul  and  the 
curses  of  so  many  widows  and  orphans  ringing  on  the  midnight 


Irish  court-dress  of  that  day  was  peculiarly  rich  and  even  splendid  ! 
“ Here,”  says  Howell,  the  writer  in  question,  “ here  is  a most  splendid 
court  kept  at  the  Castle,  and  except  that  of  the  Viceroy  of  Naples,  I 
have  not  seen  the  like  in  Christendom. — Walker  on  the  dress  of  the 
Irish)  p.  60. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


51 


air  around  you ! We  loved  not,  oh  father ! thou  wouldst  not 
have  us  love  thee,  but  oh  ! my  heart  is  breaking  with  the  thought 
that  I — I thy  only  daughter — did  as  it  were  evoke  this  untimely 
end ! To  my  dying  day  I shall  have  this  dismal  sight  before 
mine  eyes,  as  the  heart- wrung  groans  of  one  too  well  beloved  are 
ever  in  my  ear — oh ! that  eye  could  see  or  ear  could  hear  no 
more  ! — oh  ! that  this  heart  were  as  cold  and  pulseless  as  thine 
now  is  ! But,  great  God,  who  visiteth  the  sins  of  the  fathers  on 
their  children,  I must  e’en  wait  till  thy  rigorous  justice  hath 
been  satisfied  in  my  regard ! Father ! farewell ! if  it  afford  thy 
vengeful  spirit  aught  of  consolation,  know  that  the  daughter  who 
gave  thy  paternal  heart  such  a deadly  wound  is  as  miserable  as 
even  thou  couldst  wish !” 

Stooping  down  she  kissed  the  ghastly  brow  of  the  sleeper, 
and  muttering  to  herself,  “ I might  not,  dare  not,  would  not  kiss 
him  thus,  were  he  not  dead — dead  !”  She  glided  again  through 
the  ante-room,  where  the  hired  watchers  still  slumbered  on,  and 
unseen,  unheard,  reached  her  own  apartments  just  as  a fierce  gust 
of  wind  shook  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  old  house.  All  that 
night  the  wild  storm  howled  without,  moaning  dismally  in  the 
passages  and  wide  chimneys,  and  making  all  within  the  house  to 
shudder.  It  seemed  as  if  legions  of  tortured  ghosts  were  keep- 
ing watch  and  ward  over  that  lifeless  body,  shrieking  for  ven- 
geance on  the  parted  soul — and  little  wonder  if  they  were  in 
shadowy  crowds  around,  for  it  was  Sir  Charles  Coote  that  lay 
there  dead  !* 

* The  ancient  town  of  Trim  was,  as  Carte  quaintly  observes,  “ tho 
tragic  stage  whereon  he  (Coote)  acted  his  last  part.”  Brewer,  in  his 
Beauties  of  Ireland , gives  the  following  account  of  the  death  of  Coote  : 
“ Whilst  the  town  was  possessed  by  the  parliamentary  party,  in  1642, 
it  became  the  scene  of  a skirmish  that  proved  fatal  to  Sir  Charles 
Coote,  of  ensanguined  memory.  The  Irish  beset  the  town,  at  the 
break  of  day,  in  a tumultuous  party,  said  to  have  been  3,000  strong. 
Sir  Charles,  on  the  first  alarm,  issued  from  the  gate,  at  the  head  of  a 
few  horse  soldiers,  leaving  others  to  follow  as  quickly  as  they  could 
muster.  In  the  charge  which  he  made  upon  the  assailants,  Coote  was 
shot  dead,  and  it  was  thought  that  the  ball  was  discharged  by  one  of 
his  own  troopers.” 


52 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

“ Oh  heaven  ! he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save ! 

Is  there  no  arm  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 

Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  those  lovely  plains, 

Rise,  fellow-men  ! our  country  yet  remains  ! 

By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high 
And  swear  with  her  to  live — with  her  to  die ! ’ 

Campbell’s  Pleasures  of  Hope. 

On  the  10th  day  of  May,  just  three  days  after  the  tragical 
end  of  Sir  Charles  Coote,  the  patriot  prelates  of  Ireland,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  came  together  by  previous  appointment  in 
the  ancient  city  of  the  Butlers,  to  deliberate  with  such  of  the 
lay-lords  as  could  conveniently  be  present,  on  the  affairs  of  the 
pending  struggle.  After  many  days  of  calm  and  prayerful  deli- 
beration, during  which  divers  wise  rules  and  regulations  were 
devised  and  ordained,  a solemn  scene  took  place  in  the  old  Ca- 
thedral Church  of  St.  Canice,  when  all  the  lords,  temporal  and 
spiritual,  and  all’  the  Catholic  knights  and  gentlemen  then  within 
the  city,  assembled  by  appointment  to  take  the  oath  of  associa- 
tion, drawn  up  by  the  bishops  as  a bond  of  union  between  the 
so-long  conflicting  races  now  embarking  in  the  same  glorious 
cause. 

It  was  evening,  and  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun  were  re- 
flected in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  in  diagonal  lines  verg- 
ing towards  the  high  altar  from  the  richly-stained  windows  facing 
westward.  “ The  young  May  moon,”  dimly  visible  in  the  azure 
firmament,  waited  but  the  withdrawal  of  the  more  brilliant  lumi- 
nary to  shed  in  her  mild  rays  on  the  tesselated  pavement  and  the 
time-worn  walls,  and  the  solemn  assembly  of  the  holy,  the 
brave,  and  the  noble. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


53 


Many  tapers  were  burning  on  and  around  the  grand  altar,  vo- 
tive offerings  from  the  knights  and  nobles  present  to  Our  Lady 
and  good  St.  Canice;  and  their  light  fell  on  the  calm,  collected 
features  of  the  bishops  and  other  dignitaries  of  the  Church  as 
they  occupied  the  stalls  and  benches  of  the  chancel.  Without 
the  rood-screen  in  the  spacious  nave,  stood  a crowd  of  the  noblest 
and  bravest  of  the  land,  most  of  them  men  of  Norman  blood, 
for  the  summons  to  take  the  oath  had  not  as  yet  reached  the  Irish 
country,  whereas  Kilkenny  being  one  of  the  chief  cities  of  the 
Pale,  its  Catholic  lords  and  gentry  were  there  in  numbers.  Al- 
most the  only  noble  of  Irish  extraction  present  was  Lord  Mus- 
kerry,  but  of  the  spiritual  lords,  the  highest  dignitaries  were  of 
the  old  blood,  although  very  many  of  the  inferior  orders  of  the 
clergy  were  of  English  extraction.  But  there  was  one  Irish 
chieftain  present,  who  might  well  look  with  a swelling  heart  on 
that  proud  array,  for  the  organization  now  at  length  assuming 
tangible  shape  had  been  first  conceived  in  his  fertile  brain,  and 
owed  more  of  its  present  strength  to  him  than  to  any  other  liv- 
ing man.  That  chieftain  was  Rory7  O’More,  who,  with  his  con- 
stant friend,  Plunket,  stood  in  a corner  just  behind  where  Lord 
Muskerry  sat  with  the  banner  of  MacCarthy  hanging  in  heavy 
folds  above  him. 

It  were  hard  to  describe  O’More’s  thoughts  when,  just  as  the 
first  ray  of  moonlight  streamed  in  through  a window  opposite, 
Hugh  O’Neill,  the  venerable  primate,  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
altar,  and,  after  a short  but  touching  prayer,  gave  utterance  to 
the  solemn  words*  which  each  one  present  repeated  after  him, 
holding  up  their  right  hands. 

* The  oath  of  association  taken  by  the  Confederate  Catholics  was 

as  follows  : “ I do  profess,  swear,  and  protest  before  God,  and 

Ilis  saints  and  angels,  that  I will,  during  my  life,  bear  true  faith  and 
allegiance  to  ray  Sovereign  Lord,  Charles,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King 
of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,  and  to  his  heirs  and  lawful 
successors  ; and  that  I will,  to  my  power,  during  my  life,  defend,  up- 
hold, and  maintain  all  his  and  their  just  prerogatives,  estates,  and 
rights,  the  power  and  privilege  of  the  Parliament  of  this  realm,  the 
fundimental  laws  of  Ireland,  the  free  exercise  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith  and  religion  throughout  this  land  ; and  the  lives,  just  liberties, 
possessions,  estates,  and  rights  of  all  those  that  have  taken,  or  that 
shall  take  this  oath,  and  perform  the  contents  thereof ; and  that  I will 
obey  and  ratify  all  the  orders  and  decrees  made  and  to  be  made  by 


54 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Thank  God,”  exclaimed  O’More,  with  that  fervor  which  be- 
longed to  his  character,  as  he  and  Plunket  quitted  the  Church 
side  by  side,  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  river  to  enjoy  a 
moonlight  stroll  on  its  verdant  banks ; “ thank  God,  Plunket, 
things  begin  to  stand  on  a more  solid  foundation — much  hath 
been  already  done  by  this  synod ” 

“ Truly  y$s,”  said  Plunket,  “ this  oath  was  happily  devised — 
pray  Heaven  it  answer  the  intent  of  its  pious  framers  and  clasp 
the  old  and  new  Irish  together  for  so  long  as  this  struggle  lasts  ! 
An’  the  vessel  fall  to  pieces  again,  before  our  enemies  are  brought 
to  terms,  the  condition  of  the  people  will  be  worse  than  it  ever 
hath  been.” 

“ Marry,  so  think  I,  but,  pri’thee,  Richard,  let  us  not  give 
way  to  gloomy  imaginings  now  when  all  seems  bright  and  of 
good  promise.  I would  there  had  been  more  of  the  old  blood 
present,  so  that  the  voices  of  all  blending  in  that  solemn  vow, 
the  bond  of  union  might  be  henceforward  and  for  ever  cemented 
with  brotherly  love.  What  thinkest  thou,  keen  lawyer  as  thou 
art,  of  these  rules  already  drawn  up  and  the  ordinances  made  V ’* 


the  Supreme  Council  of  the  Confederate  Catholics  of  this  kingdom, 
concerning  the  said  public  cause  ; and  I will  not  seek,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, any  pardon  or  protection  for  any  act  done,  or  to  be  done, 
touching  this  general  cause,  without  the  consent  of  the  major  part  of 
said  council,  and  that  I will  not,  directly  or  indirectly,  do  any  act  or 
acts  that  shall  prejudice  the  said  cause,  but  will,  to  the  hazard  of  my 
life  and  estate,  assist,  prosecute,  and  maintain  the  same. 

“ Moreover,  I do  further  swear  that  I will  not  accept  of,  or  submit 
unto,  any  peace  made,  or  to  be  made,  with  the  said  Confederate 
Catholics,  without  the  consent  and  approbation  of  the  general  assem- 
bly of  the  said  Confederate  Catholics,  and  for  the  preservation  and 
strengthening  of  the  association  and  union  of  the  kingdom.  That 
upon  any  peace  or  accommodation  to  be  made  or  concluded  with  the 
said  Confederate  Catholics  as  aforesaid,  I will,  to  the  utmost  of  my 
power,  insist  upon  and  maintain  the  ensuing  propositions,  until  a 
peace,  as  aforesaid,  be  made,  and  the  matters  to  be  agreed  upon  in 
the  articles  of  peace  to  be  established,  and  secured  by  Parliament. 
So  help  me,  God,  and  His  holy  Gospel.” 

“ Sueh,”  says  Rev.  Mr.  Meehan  in  his  Confederation  of  Kilkenny , 
“ such  was  this  solemn  oath,  or  ‘ fsedus,’  which  gave  a distinct  appel- 
lation to  those  who  bound  themselves  by  it,  and  whom  we  are 
henceforth  to  know  as  the  Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland.” 

* The  following  enactments  were  made  by  this  Council,  “ for  the 
conservation  and  exercise  of  this  union,”  viz. : between  all  “ Irish 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


55 


“ It  would  ill  become  me  to  find  fault  with  them,”  said  Plun- 
ket  with  his  humorous  smile,  “ seeing  that  they  be  in  part  my 
own  bantlings.  However,  such  as  they  are,  methinks  no  Ca- 


peers,  magistrates,  noblemen,  cities,  and  provinces.”  Their  wisdom, 
moderation,  and  entire  fitness  for  the  object  in  view,  must  strike  all 
who  read  them : 

I.  Whereas,  the  war  which  now  in  Ireland  the  Catholics  do  main- 
tain against  sectaries,  and  chiefly  against  Puritans,  for  the  defence 
of  the  Catholic  religion, — for  the  maintenance  of  the  prerogative  and 
royal  rights  of  our  gracious  King  Charles, — for  our  gracious  Qu^n, 
so  unworthily  abused  by  the  Puritans, — for  the  honor,  safety,  mid 
health  of  their  royal  issue, — for  to  avert  and  repair  the  injuries  done 
to  them, — for  the  conservation  of  the  just  and  lawful  safeguard, 
liberties,  and  rights  of  Ireland, — and,  lastly,  for  the  defence  of  their 
own  lives,  fortunes,  lands,  and  possessions  ; — whereas  this  war  is  un- 
dertaken for  the  aforesaid  causes  against  unlawful  usurpers,  oppressors, 
and  the  enemies  of  the  Catholics,  chiefly  Puritans,  and  that  hereof 
wo  are  informed,  as  well  by  divers  and  true  remonstrances  of  divers 
provinces,  counties,  and  noblemen,  as  also  by  the  unanimous  consent 
and  agreement  of  a1  most  the  whole  kingdom  in  this  war  and  union, — 
we,  therefore,  declare  that  war,  openly  Catholic,  to  be  lawful  and 
just ; in  which  war,  if  some  of  the  Catholics  be  found  to  proceed  out 
of  some  particular  and  unjust  title — covetousness,  cruelty,  revenge, 
or  hatred,  or  any  such  unlawful  private  intentions — we  declare  them 
therein  grievously  to  sin,  and  therefore  worthy  to  be  punished  and 
restrained  with  ecclesiastical  censures  if,  advised  thereof,  they  do  not 
amend. 

II.  Whereas  the  adversaries  do  spread  divers  rumors,  do  write 
divers  letters,  and,  under  the  King’s  name,  do  print  proclamations, 
which  are  not  the  King’s,  by  which  means  divers  plots  and  dangers 
may  ensue  unto  our  nation  ; we,  therefore,  to  stop  the  way  of  untruth, 
and  forgeries  of  political  adversaries,  do  will  and  command  that  no 
such  rumors,  letters,  or  proclamations,  may  have  place  or  belief  until 
it  be  known  in  a national  council,  whether  they  truly  proceed  from  the 
King,  left  to  his  own  freedom,  and  until  agents  of  this  kingdom,  here- 
after to  be  appointed  by  the  National  Council,  have  free  passage  to 
his  Majesty,  whereby  the  kingdom  may  be  certainly  informed  of  his 
Majesty’s  intention  and  will. 

III.  We  straightly  command  all  our  inferiors,  as  well  churchmen 
as  laymen,  to  make  no  alienation,  comparison,  or  difference  between 
provinces,  cities,  towns,  or  families  ; and  lastly,  not  to  begin  or  for- 
ward any  emulations,  or  comparisons  whatsoever. 

IV.  That  in  every  province  of  Ireland  there  be  a Council  made  up, 
both  of  clergy  and  nobility,  in  which  council  shall  be  so  many  persons, 

# at  least,  as  are  counties  in  the  province,  and  out  of  every  city  or  nota- 
ble town,  two  persons. 

V.  Let  one  general  council  of  the  whole  kingdom  bo  made,  both  of 
the  clergy,  nobility,  cities,  and  notable  towns,  in  which  council  there 
shall  be  three  out  of  every  province,  and  out  of  every  city,  one  ; or 


56 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tholic  can  cavil  at  any  of  them.  The  formation  of  the  councils 
is  a grand  stroke,  a capital  stroke,  friend  Roger,  and  as  for  the 
other  several  ordinances,  they  serve,  if  other  purpose  they  had 
not,  as  a sort  of  creed  for  our  National  Confederation.  I tell 
thee,  Roger,”  said  Plunket  warming  with  his  subject  as  he  the 
more  considered  it,  “ I tell  thee,  the  work  already  done  by  this 
assembly  of  lords,  temporal  and  spiritual,  will  make  amends  to  us 
— ay  ! an  hundred  times  over — for  that  unhappy  affair  of  Mag- 
eny.  Nay,  never  look  so  downhearted,  Roger ! that  was  a heavy 
blojft  God  knows,  but  the  wound  it  gave  the  nation  happily 
reached  no  vital  part.  See  you  not  how  full  of  life  we  are — ay ! 
in  truth,  vigorous  and  lusty  as  the  mountain  roe,  and  as  ready 
to  overleap  all  manner  of  obstacles  that  lie  between  us  and 
freedom.  Think  no  more  of  it,  Roger,  there  was  no  blame  at- 
tached to  any  who  fought  there ” 

“ Still,  Richard,  you  must  own  it  was  discouraging,  to  say  the 
least  of  it.  Think  of  all  the  noble  gentlemen  whose  names  are 
covered  with  the  disgrace  of  that  action.  There  was  Mount- 
garret  himself,  Dunboyne  and  Skerrin,  Sir  Morgan  Cavanagh, 
O’Byrne,  and  lastly,  my  humble  self.  Such  a show  of  men  an  1 
officers  of  note,  and  all  for  nothing — worse  than  nothing.  Ah ! 
Plunket,  men  may  talk  as  they  will  of  numerical  strength,  but, 
after  all,  discipline  is  the  main  thing — we  Irish  were  taught  a 
fearful  lesson  at  that  same  bridge  of  Mageny,  to  wit,  that  vast 

where  cities  are  not,  out  of  the  chiefest  towns.  To  this  council  the' 
provincial  councils  shall  have  subordination,  and  from  thence  to  it 
may  be  appealed,  until  this  National  Council  shall  have  opportunity 
to  sit  together. 

VL  Let  a faithful  inventory  be  made,  in  every  province,  of  the 
murders,  burnings,  and  other  cruelties  which  are  permitted  by  the 
Puritan  enemies,  with  a quotation  of  -tho  place,  day,  cause,  manner, 
and  persons,  and  other  circumstances,  subscribed  by  one  of  public 
authority. 

VII.  We  do  declare  and  judge  all  and  every  such  as  do  forsake 
this  union,  fight  for  our  enemies,  accompany  them  in  their  war,  de- 
fend, or  in  any  way  assist  them,  to  be  excommunicated,  and,  by  these 
presents,  do  excommunicate  them. 

VIII  We  will  and  declare  all  those  that  murder,  dismember,  or 
grievously  strike,  all  thieves,  unlawful  spoilers,  robbers  of  any  goods, 
to  be  excommunicated,  and  so  to  remain  till  they  completely  amend 
and  satisfy,  no  less  than  if  they  were  namely  proclaimed  excommuni- 
cated!”— Meehan’s  Confederation  of  Kilkenny , p.  30. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


57 


bodies  of  men  are  but  an  incumbrance  on  the  field  of  battle  if 
they  be  not  well  trained  and  well  accoutred.” 

“ How,  think  you,  will  Clanrickarde  and  those  of  his  party 
take  our  ordinances  1”  said  Plunket,  partly  with  a view  to 
change  what  he  knew  was  a painful  subject. 

“Not  over  well,  I imagine,  seeing  that  no  alternative  is  left 
them  but  excommunication,  if  so  be  they  persevere  in  their 
present  abetment  of  the  enemy’s  courses.” 

“Excommunication  quotha!”  repeated  Plunket  with  that 
caustic  humor  which  ever  characterized  him;  “ methinks,  Roger, 
such  Catholics  as  Ulick  Burke  take  little  heed  of  spiritual  cen- 
sures —so  long  as  they  be  not  debarred  from  government  favor, 
or  the  emoluments  of  office,  the  bishops  may  curse  them  £ bell, 
book,  and  candle-light,’  without  troubling  their  digestion  in  the 
least ! — may  God  confound  all  such  white-livered,  time-serving 
knaves,  say  I !” 

“I  do  heartily  admire  your  honest  indignation,  Richard  1” 
said  O’ More  with  his  genial  smile;  “albeit  that  you  may  judge 
my  Lord  Clanrickarde  over  harshly — I am  told  here  that  an 
effort  will  shortly  be  made  by  some  of  the  bishops  to  bring  him 
over  to  his  rightful  place  in  this  struggle — let  us  wait  to  see 
what  effect  their  remonstrance  will  have  before  we  judge  the 
Earl  with  such  pitiless  severity!  But  hark!  is  not  that  the  ninth 
hour  sounding  from  the  old  clock  of  St.  Canice  1 By  my  word, 
Richard,  it  is, — we  have  tarried  over  long,  you  see,  beguiled  by 
the  beauty  of  earth  and  sky,  and  the  No  re’s  tremulous  reflection 
of  yonder  planet’s  silvery  beams — Muskerry  and  Mountgarret 
and  the  rest  will  deem  us  somewhat  indifferent  counsellors,  an’ 
we  try  their  patience  in  this  wise !” 

“ The  fault  is  yours,  good  friend  mine,”  rejoined  Plunket  with 
a laugh ; “ sooth  to  say  Madam  Luna  hath  no  such  charms  for 
me,  that  for  her  dear  sake  I would  take  to  wandering,  ghost- 
like, amongst  the  night-shadows.  A soul  full  of  poetry  like 
yours  must  needs  do  homage  to  the  queen  of  night,  but  a man 
of  prose  such  as  I,  hath  more  fondness  for  the  busy,  bustling, 
matter-of-fact  daylight,  when  all  the  world  is  up  and  doing. 
However,  Roger,  my  good  fellow,  an’  you  quicken  your  steps, 
so  as  to  reach  the  Swan  before  our  noble  friends’  patience  be 


58 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


exhausted,  we  may  e’en  have  business  of  some  import  on  hands 
to-night,  touching  matters  to  be  brought  before  the  synod 
to-morrow.” 

O’More  was  no  less  anxious  than  his  friend  to  reach  the  place 
of  appointment,  whither  they  were  invited  to  meet  the  lay-lords 
of  the  council  at  a supper  given  by  Lord  Mountgarret,  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  conferring  together  on  the  further  proceed- 
ings of  the  deliberative  body.  Yet  still  the  brave  chieftain  could 
not  repress  a heavy  sigh  as  the  old  tavern*  broke  on  his  view  at 
the  turn  of  one  of  the  abrupt  angles  in  which  Kilkenny,  like 
most  ancient  cities,  abounds.  He  was  thinking,  as  Plunket 
rightly  guessed,  of  that  other  such  preliminary  night-meeting 
'which  ended  in  the  capture  of  McGuire  and  McMahon. 

“ Forgive  me,  Richard,  if  I appear  gloomy  and  despondent — 
it  is  not  from  any  fears  anent  the  success  of  our  cause  that  I now 
heave  the  sigh,  but  my  heart  is  ever  heavy  when  I bethink  me 
of  those  two  gallant  friends  of  ours  cooped  up  within  the  four 
walls  of  a dungeon  at  such  time  as  this  when  most  the  country 
needs  the  swords  and  strong  arms  of  her  sons — nothing  know- 
ing, nothing  hearing  of  what  passeth  amongst  us  their  friends 
and  comrades,  other  than  what  their  jailers  may  see  fit  to  tell 
them — oh,  friends ! friends ! brave  and  generous  and  true- 
hearted ! shall  these  eyes  ever  behold  ye  again  7 shall  your 
long-shackled  limbs  ever  bear  ye  again  in  freedom  over  the 
green  fields  where  ye  sported  but  few  short  months  ago,  light- 
some and  swift  as  the  red  deer  of  the  mountains  7” 

They  had  just  reached  the  door  of  the  Swan,  and  Plunket 
who  was  himself  catching  the  infection  of  his  friend’s  melan- 
choly, was  not  sorry  to  exchange  his  sole  companionship  for  the 
cheerful,  animated,  and  somewhat  noisy  crowd  already  occupy- 
ing the  Swan’s  best  apartment.  Happily  for  all  concerned,  no 
untoward  occurrence  came  to  mar  the  social  enjoyment  of  that 

* Lest  our  readers  should  be  in  any  degree  scandalized  at  the  place 
chosen  for  such  an  entertainment  by  such  a company,  it  may  be  well 
to  observe  that  the  word  hotel  had  no  place  in  the  vocabulary  of  our 
ancestors,  nor  had  the  word  tavern  the  same  signification  that  it  now 
has.  Inn  and  tavern  were  the  common  names  applied  to  all  houses 
of  entertainment. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


59 


evening,  which  was  long  looked  back  upon  by  the  gallant  gen- 
tlemen there  assembled  as  a pleasant  oasis  in  the  desert  of  long- 
protracted  warfare.  Few  such  festive  evenings  fell  to  the  lot  of 
many  there  in  after  times ! 

Before  the  synod  broke  up  towards  the  end  of  that  month  of 
May,  another  grand  and  more  general  assembly,  both  lay  and 
clerical,  was  called  for  the  following  October,  in  the  same  good 
old  city  of  Kilkenny.  Agents  were  immediately  despatched  anew 
to  the  different  Catholic  Courts  of  Europe,  soliciting  assistance ; 
foreign  merchants  were  invited  to  export  munitions  of  war  to 
Ireland,  and  artizans  skilled  in  the  manufacture  of  arms  were 
likewise  offered  every  encouragement  to  induce  them  to  take 
up  their  abode  in  the  districts  occupied  by  the  Confederate 
forces.*  Copies  of  the  rules  and  regulations  so  far  made  were 
sent  to  all  the  Catholic  noblemen  and  gentlemen  throughout  the 
kingdom,  with  a manifesto  declaratory  of  the  ends  and  objects  of 
the  Confederation  just  formed. 

It  was  about  the  end  of  that  same  month  of  May  that  two 
gentlemen  of  noble  mien  might  have  been  seen  one  evening 
pacing  to  and  fro  the  length  of  the  flagged  way  leading 
through  the  Upper  Castle  Yard  in  Dublin  City.  The  massive 
gates  opening  on  Cork  Hill  were  not  yet  closed  for  the  night, 
but  there  was  none  the  greater  bustle  in  the  narrow  old  court 
lying  so  darkly  in  the  evening  shades  between  the  massive  walls 
of  the  Castle,  for,  during  that  stormy  time  of  civil  commotion,  the 
citizens  were  not  permitted,  as  they  were  before,  and  are  since, 
to  make  the  Castle  Yards,  Upper  and  Lower,  a short  cut  to  the 
streets  below.  The  few  straggling  soldiers  visible  in  the  Yard 
were  evidently  careful  not  to  come  within  hearing  of  the  earnest 
discourse  carried  on  in  a low  voice  between  the  two  individuals 
just  mentioned,  and  even  the  sentries  pacing  their  weary  rounds 
on  either  hand,  appeared  equally  willing  to  keep  as  far  from 
them  as  their  appointed  limits  would  permit.  Both  gentlemen 
had  that  about  them  which  denoted  military  as  well  as  civil 
rank,  although  but  one  had  anything  distinctive  in  the  costume 
which  so  well  became  his  lofty  mien  and  graceful  form.  His 

* See  Meehan’s  Confederation  of  Kilkenny , pp.  30,  31. 


60 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


dark  handsome  features  are  not  unknown  to  us,  nor  yet  the 
bland  smile  of  condescension  wherewith  he  listens — deigns  to 
listen,  as  it  were,  to  the  deep,  full,  measured  tones  of  his  com- 
panion. Such  a smile  was  never  seen,  save  on  Ormond’s  face, 
and  Ormond  it  surely  was.  But  who,  then,  was  he  who  walked 
so  long  by  the  proud  Earl’s  side  in  friendly  converse,  nor  seemed 
in  anywise  overpowered  by  that  nobleman’s  stretch  of  conde- 
scension in  granting  him  so  long  an  audience  'l  Quite  at  his 
ease  he  appeared  to  be,  with  his  plumed  hat  thrown  back  some- 
what from  his  broad,  massive  brow,  and  his  mail-gloved  hand 
laid  at  times  on  the  Earl’s  shoulder,  as  though  to  enforce  con- 
viction. There  was  a quiet  consciousness  of  equality  in  the  gen- 
tleman’s whole  demeanor  towards  Ormond,  although  he  had 
neither  the  exquisite-  polish,  nor  the  insinuating  address  of  that 
accomplished  courtier.  Yet  he,  too,  was  a tactitian  in  hjs  way, 
and  as  a statesman  was  even  then  considered  as  not  inferior  to 
Ormond  himself,  while  in  social  rank  he  was  fully  his  equal. 
Indeed  the  British  empire  at  that  day  contained  not  any  noble- 
man of  greater  account,  for  he  was  no  other  than  Ulick  Burke, 
Earl  of  Clanrickarde,  the  great  Palatine  of  the  West,  the  cautious, 
calm,  wily  politician,  who,  belonging  to  the  Catholics  by  reli- 
gious profession,  still  adhered  to  the  cause  of  their  enemies,  and 
managed  to  maintain  a high  repute  amongst  them  by  his  utter 
detachment  from  his  natural  friends,  and  entire  devotion  to  the 
views  and  wishes  of  their  oppressors.  He  it  was  who  thus  ac- 
companied Ormond  in  his  evening  walk,  and  it  was  hard  to  say 
which  was  the  more  astute  politician,  which  the  keener  observer 
of  men  and  things.  Still  there  were  some  essential  points  of  dif- 
ference between  their  characters,  for  while  Ormond  was  entirely 
devoted  to  his  own  interests,  and  made  all  others  subservient  to 
them,  Clanrickarde  was  honestly  and  heartily  devoted  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  king  his  master,  and  what  he  considered  the  cause 
of  order — more  sincere  than  Ormond,  he  was  also  much  less  skilled 
in  the  art  of  dissembling,  and  could  by  no  means  descend  to 
intrigue  or  flattery  to  carry  out  his  honest,  though  fatally  erro- 
neous views.  In  person,  Clanrickarde  was  like  Ormond,  tall  and 
commanding,  but  the  Connaught  magnate  was  of  larger  propor- 
tions and  more  robust  frame  than  he  of  Ormond,  and  although  his 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


61 


features  were  regular  and  well  formed,  they  wanted  the  chiselled 
smoothness  which  belonged  so  peculiarly  to  the  other.  Take 
them  as  they  stood,  those  two  great  Anglo-Irish  lords,  Cl^prickarde 
was  the  larger  and  more  athletic,  perhaps  the  more  imposing, 
while  Ormond  was  immeasurably  his  superior  in  grace  and  ele- 
gance, and  all  manner  of  personal  attraction. 

Clani  ickarde  had  been  giving  an  account  of  his  recent  success 
in  bringing  the  refractory  town  of  Cuahvay  into  subjection,  and 
the  manifold  troubles  arising  to  him  from  the  want  of  proper 
supplies,  which  latter  business  had  brought  him  to  Dublin, 
although,  as  he  said,  he  could  ill  spare  even  one  day  from  the 
arduous  cares  of  his  government. 

“ Truly  your  lordship  hath  no  enviable  post  there,”  said  Or- 
mond at  the  close  of  the  narrative  ; “ you  have  a turbulent  crew  to 
deal  with  in  that  same  Galway  of  yours.  Much  did  we  hear  of 
the  good  and  peaceable  dispositions  existing  amongst  all  classes 
in  your  lordship’s  country,  but,  by  my  halidome,  I was  never 
deceived  by  those  rumors,  knowing  well  the  stuff  whereof  those 
old  Norman  tribes  are  made — they  are  at  heart  both  proud 
and  Papistical,  opposed  to  all  authority  but  their  own,  and  well 
content  to  let  the  Irishry  spoil  and  harry  all  the  country  round 
so  long  as  they  leave  them  masters  within  their  fourteen  gates 
and  towers !” 

“ They  are  in  truth  what  you  say,”  rejoined  Clanrickarde, 
“ yet  I hold  that  Willoughby*  is  not  without  his  share  of  blame 
in  regard  to  the  recent  disturbances.  He  is  as  fierce  and  cruel 
as  a tiger,  and  as  obstinate  withal  as  a donkey,  so  that  a man 
can  no  more  bring  him  to  reason  than  he  could  teach  yonder 
post  to  walk.  It  is  little  short  of  madness,  as  I take  it,  to  fix 
such  overgrown  boys  as  he  in  places  of  trust.  Truly  yes,  the 
townsmen  of  Galway  are,  as  you  say,  proud  and  hard  to  manage, 
but  an’  I were  left  to  deal  with  them  as  in  former  years,  I war- 
rant me  they  had  never  made  common  cause  with  the  Irish 

* Captain  Willoughby,  who  then  commanded  the  fort  of  Galway, 
was  the  son  of  Sir  Francis  of  that  name,  who  was  appointed  Governor 
of  Dublin  Castle  very  soon  after  that  meeting  of  the  Privy  Coimci* 
which  wo  introduced  him  to  the  reader. 


62 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


enemy  whom  they  hate  as  they  do  the  Evil  One.  Many  a 
pretty  piece  of  negotiation  hath  been  spoiled  for  me  of  late  by 
the  hot-bjooded  rashness  of  that  same  spawn  of  the  Parliament, 
for  no  sooner  would  the  slightest  difficulty  arise  between  any  of 
his  soldiers  and  the  townspeople,  than,  bang  into  the  town,  came 
down  shell  and  shot,  whereupon  the  citizens  would  at  once 
break  off  all  communication  with  me,  send  my  messengers  back 
in  disgrace,  and  take  to  starving  and  otherwise  annoying  the 
garrison  in  the  fort.  I tell  you,  my  lord  of  Ormond” — and  stop- 
ping in  his  walk,  he  made  Ormond  do  the  same  by  placing  his 
large  hand  like  a grasp  of  iron  on  his  shoulder — “ I tell  you, 
an’  the  city  and  fort  of  Galway  be  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
government,  small  thanks  are  due  to  their  pet  Willoughby,  for 
all  that  they  kept  him  so  well  supplied  with  things  needful 
while  Clanrickarde  was  left  to  shift  for  himself  and  his  poor 
people  as  best  he  might.” 

“ Nay,  my  good  lord,”  said  Ormond  in  his  soft,  soothing 
way,  “ methinks  you  are  over  hard  upon  the  government ” 

“Hard!”  repeated  Clanrickarde  with  unwonted  vehemence; 
“before  God  I say  it,  James  Butler,  it  hath  seemed  to  me  at 
times  that  the  Lords  Justices  desired  nothing  more  than  to 
drive  me  from  the  king’s  service,  and  force  me  into  the  ranks  of 
rebellion — otherwise,  had  they  never  treated  my  poor  services 
with  such  base  ingratitude,  or  taken  so  little  pains  to  provide  me 
with  munitions  of  war  and  other  such  matters  as  I stood  in  need 
of  for  his  Majesty’s  behoof.  You  know  not,  my  lord,  the  straits 
whereto  I have  been  reduced  in  order  to  hold  that  western 
country  for  the  king,  or  the  insults  I have  been  forced  to  pocket 
from  the  disaffected.  Why,  it  was  but  last  week  that  my  Castle 
of  Auglianure,  situate  in  a wild  district  of  Connemara,  was 
coolly  taken  possession  of  by  a party  of  the  O’Flahertys.  num- 
bering no  more  than  fifty  or  thereabouts.” 

“ The  O’Flahertys  are  up,  then  V*  questioned  Ormond. 

“Up!  ay,  marry,  are  they,  and  for  the  matter  of  that  they 
were  never  down , save  in  so  far  or  so  long  as  authority  and 
strength  could  keep  them  so.  Arrant  traitors  are  they  every  soul 
of  them,  and  it  needeth  but  a spark  at  any  time  to  set  their 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


63 


whole  country*  in  a blaze.  I would  the  Castle  had  been  burned 
to  the  ground  rather  than  fall  into  their  hands.” 

“ Methinks,”  said  Ormond  with  his  equivocal  smile,  “ that 
wish  is  unbecoming  in  the  mouth  of  so  loyal  a nobleman.  The 
Castle  may  yet  be  retaken  from  the  Papist  enemy,  and  stand  us 
in  good  stead,  whereas  an’  it  were  burned,  there  were  an  end 
of  it !” 

“Humph!  talk  is  cheap,”  observed  the  western  Earl  rather 
testily  ; “ your  lordship  knows  little  of  these  O’Flahertys.  An’ 
the  worshipful  Lords  Justices  supply  me  not  in  far  other  fashion 
they  have  yet  done,  it  will  be  long  ere  I or  mine  set  foot  within 
the  walls  of  Aughanure.  Young  Murrough  na  Dhu  O’Flaherty, 
who  led  the  party  against  it,  and  in  one  hour’s  fighting  took  the 
Castle  and  made  prisoners  of  its  garrison,  in  the  name,  forsooth, 
1 of  the  Catholic  army’ — he,  I tell  you,  Earl,  will  hold  it  against 
all  comers,  unless,  as  I said,  God  moveth  the  hearts  of  those  in 
power  to  set  me  on  a proper  footing  for  war.  Though  young 
in  years,  Murrough  na  Dhu  hath  the  courage  of  a lion,  and  the 
arm  of  a blacksmith — a youthful  Hercules  he  is,  I wot  me  well, 
with  a soul  all  on  fire  for  what  he  deemeth  the  cause  of  religion 
and  country.  Take  Aughanure  back  from  his  hands  ! — by  my 
knightly  word,  it  might  try  the  skill  of  Ormond  himself  to  do  it 
in  that  wild,  unapproachable  region  !” 

“ Good  my  lord,”  said  Ormond,  without  appearing  to  notice 
the  mention  made  of  his  own  name  ; “ good  my  lord,  there  seem- 
eth  to  be  an  evil  spirit  at  work  amongst  the  young  men  of  your 
country.  Not  to  speak  of  this  fierce  O’Flaherty,  there  hath  been 
wild  work  going  on  amongst  them  of  late,  as  we  have  heard  here 
in  Dublin !” 

“ Oh  ! your  lordship  hath  reference  to  that  mad  prank  played 
some  weeks  since,  by  certain  young  men  of  Galway  City,  in  re- 
gard to  the  taking  of  an  English  ship ! — truly  that  was  a feat,  all 
things  considered.  But  as  I told  you  before,  it  was  all  the  work 
of  Willoughby.  Ilis  idle  threats  and  violent  aggressions  drove 

* Nearly  the  whole  of  Jar-Connaught  belonged  of  old,  and  conse- 
quently of  right,  to  this  princely  sept,  whose  chiefs  were  dispossessed 
to  make  room  for  the  De  Burgos. 


G4 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  townspeople  to  desperation,  and  fearing  that  all  who  pro- 
fessed the  old  faith  might  any  day  be  turned  out  of  the  city,  like 
unto  the  Catholics  of  Cork  and  Youghal,  if  not  slaughtered  in 
cold  blood,  a number  of  bold,  reckless,  crack-brained  youths 
did  attack  and  finally  capture  a ship  laden  chiefly  with  arms  and 
ammunition,  which  had  been  lying  some  days  in  the  harbor  wait- 
ing to  land  her  stores  for  the  use  of  the  fort.*  By  that  means 
these  desperadoes  got  possession  of  firearms  and  other  war-stores 
in  plenty,  which  things  they  had  not  in  any  quantity  before.  ’ 

“ And  then ” 

“ And  then,  my  lord,  they  went  in  a body  to  the  Church 
of  St.  Nicholas  and  vowed  all  manner  of  loyalty — lip-loyalty,  we 
needs  must  think — towards  his  gracious  Majesty,  with  entire  de- 
votion, however,  to  the  cause  of  rebellion.  Truly  God  and  St. 
Nicholas  must  have  turned  a deaf  ear  to  such  orisons  as  they 
put  up  ! — whosoever  rebels  against  lawful  authority,  the  Lord  will 
not  surely  hold  him  guiltless !” 

It  was  well  for  Ormond  that  Clanrickarde  saw  not  the  mocking 
smile  which  played  around  his  finely-curved  lip  at  the  moment, 
else  had  the  western  autocrat  never  again  laid  bare  his  thoughts 
before  the  keen  scrutiny  of  that  wily  lord.  Having  his  eyes  fixed 
at  the  moment  in  another  direction,  he  saw  not  the  face  of  his 
companion,  and  went  on  quickly  with  what  he  had  been  saying. 

“Issuing  from  the  Church,  those  rebels,  with  the  mayor,  I 
grieve  to  say  it,  at  their  head,  took  possession  speedily  of  all  the 
gates,  declaring  that  they  would  hold  the  town  for  King  Charles 
and  the  Catholic  army  until  such  time  as  God  sent  them  relief. 
Knaves  and  hypocrites——” 

“ Shame,  shame,  shame,  Clanrickarde ! — traitor  to  God  and  His 
holy  faith,  dost  thou  dare  thus  to  stigmatize  the  faithful  and  the 
true  I” 

Thus  spoke  a deep,  stern  voice,  almost,  it  would  seem,  at  the 
Earl’s  elbow,  and  turning  fiercely  he  demanded  : 

“ My  lord  of  Ormond,  was  it  thou  that  spoke  V’ 

“ By  my  life,  it  was  not !”  the  Earl  replied  with  very  sincere 
astonishment,  and  both  peered  into  the  deep  shade  whence  the 

* This  fact  is  historically  true,  to  the  im  mortal  honor  of  old  Galway. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


65 


voice  appeared  to  have  issued.  Not  a living  soul  was  there  visi- 
ble, and  Clanrickarde  exclaimed  with  a shudder : 

“ The  devil  himself,  then,  must  be  in  it,  for  the  voice  was 
close  to  my  ear !” 

“ What  ho,  there  ! — close  the  gates  instantly ! — secure  the 
traitor,  whoever  he  be !” 

Lord  Ormond’s  command  was  quickly  obeyed,  but  not  before 
an  aged  mendicant  presented  himself  at  the  gate  nearest  to  the 
two  noblemen*  soliciting  charity  in  the  professional  whine  that 
marked  his  class  then  as  now. 

“ Get  you  gone,  old  scare-crow,”  cried  the  proud  Earl,  raising 
his  mailed  hand,  “ or  I strike  you  as  you  may  not  relish.  Get 
you  gone,  I say,  this  be  no  place  for  beggars  ! * 

“ True  for  you,  my  noble  master,”  the  old  man  whined  again 
as  the  massive  gate  was  closed  -against  him;  “ God  reward  you 
— as  you  deserve, — for  sure  it’s  your  own  good-looking  face  that 
covers  the  black  heart !” 

“ What  is  the  scoundrel  muttering  1 ’ exclaimed  Ormond. 

“ He  is  complimenting  your  lordship  on  your  goodness  of 
heart !”  Clanrickarde  replied  with  such  a laugh  as  was  seldom 
heard  from  his  lips.  “ Nay,  man,  waste  no  time  looking  after 
him, — let  us  rather  seek  my  invisible  friend,  an’  he  be  within 
these  limits  S4’ 

A burst  of  merriment  from  without  the  gate  caused  the  two 
lords  to  start,  and  the  voice  of  the  nendicant  was  heard  to  say  : 
“ A comical  sight  it  surely  is  to  see  my  lord  of  Ormond  and  the 
Papist  Earl  of  Clanrickarde  playing  hide-and-seek  together  this 
bright  May  evening  V ’ 

The  heavy  gate  was  thrown  open  again,  and  Ormond  himself, 
for  once  forgetful  of  his  dignity,  rushed  out  followed  at  slower 
pace  by  Clanrickarde,  but  the  beggar  had  disappeared,  and  it 
were  worse  than  useless  to  seek  him  amongst  *the  crowd  of  citi- 
zens whom  the  beauty  of  the  night  had  tempted  abroad. 

Before  twelve  o’clock  that  night  messengers  from  within  the 
city  were  far  on  their  way  to  Kilkenny  with  an  account  of  all 
that  could  interest  the  Confederate  leaders  in  the  foregoing  con- 
versation. 

During  the  following  week  a very  strong  remonstrance  was 


G6 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


addressed  to  Lord  Clanrickarde,  bearing  the  honored  signatures  * 
of  three  illustrious  bishops  belonging  to  his  own  section  of  the 
country.*  Malachy  of  Tuam,  Francis  of  Elphin,  and  John  of 
C'lonfert  were  the  names  affixed  to  the  eloquent  and  forcible  ap- 
peal in  which  nought  was  left  unsaid  that  might  touch  the  heart, 
or  awaken  the  slumbering  conscience  of  the  Earl.  But  Clan- 
rickarde was  not  to  be  moved  from  his  strange  and  anomalous 
position,  and  thenceforward  the  Confederates,  both  lay  and  cler- 
ical, gave  him  up  in  despair. 

* In  the  West,  three  bishops  ....  addressed  a remonstrance 
to  the  Earl  of  Clanrickarde,  importuning  him  to  join  the  national 
cause,  “which  was,”  in  his  opinion,  “ grounded  upon  wrong  and  bad 
foundations  ” In  vain  did  Mountgarret  and  the  bishops  endeavor  to 
convince  him  that  he  was  helping  to  ruin  his  country.  “ No  argu- 
ment,” said  they,  “ though  you  should  write  it  in  our  very  blood,  will 
ever  persuade  the  J ustices  your  affections  are  sincere,  while  you  bear 
about  you  those  marks  by  which  they  distinguish  such  as  they  have 
appointed  for  perdition.  Let  it  not  come  to  you  to  sprinkle  your  an- 
cestors’ graves  with  the  blood  of  such  as  will  sacrifice  themselves 
in  the  justifiable  cause.” — Clanrickarde' s Memoirs , 117,  quoted  by 
Meehan.  * 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


67 


CHAPTER  V. 

“ 0,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people’s  hearts ; 

And  that,  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 

His  countenance,  like  richest  alchymy, 

Will  change  to  virtue,  and  to  worthiness.” 

Shakespeare. 

The  day  succeeding  Owen  Roe’s  arrival  jyas  a busy,  bustling 
day  in  and  around  Charlemont  Castle.  The  chiefs  who  had  been 
there  some  days  awaiting  his  coming  were  now  engaged  with 
him  in  earnest  deliberation  on  the  measures  to  be  taken  in  order 
to  co-operate  effectively  with  the  Confederate  forces  of  the  other 
provinces.  By  common  consent  Colonel  O’Neill  was  placed  in 
the  seat  of  honor  as  president  of  the  council,  and  near  him  sat 
Sir  John  Netterville  with  a smile  half  serious,  half  playful,  curl- 
ing his  thin  lip.  Opposite  Owen,  at  the  further  end  of  the  long 
table  which  served  as  a council-board,  the  burly  form  of  Sir 
Phelim  occupied  the  other  “ seat  of  honor,”  as  Sir  Phelim’s  air 
of  official  arrogance  plainly  expressed.  Yet  the  swaggering  air 
of  consequence  was  but  assumed  at  that  particular  time,  for 
poor  Phelim  was  sadly  sensible  that  the  sceptre  was  departing 
from  him  and  for  ever.  Little  as  he  had  seen  of  his  kinsman,  it 
had  sufficed  to  show  him  that  factious  opposition  to  his  author- 
ity— if  supreme  authority  were  given  him — would  be  worse  than 
useless,  and  Sir  Phelim,  with  all  his  violence  of  temper,  and  im- 
periousness of  manner,  when  inferiors  or  even  equals  were  in 
question,  was  not  at  all  the  man  to  resist  the  influence  of  a mas- 
ter mind  placed  by  the  will  of  the  chiefs  in  authority  over  all. 

Glancing  around  the  table  from  end  to  end  we  recognize  many 
an  old  acquaintance,  old  but  unforgotten.  Familiar  they  are  to 
us  as  the  first  actors  in  the  great  rebellion,  but  they  were  not  so 
to  Owen  O’Neill,  whose  keen  eye  scanned  the  features  of  each 


68 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


in  turn  with  the  rapid,  scrutinizing  glance  of  ojae  accustomed  to 
read  such  books.  Happily  his  own  face  brightened  as  he  looked, 
for,  whatever  else  he  saw  in  the  faces  around  him,  he  read  in  all 
the  same  fixed  and  settled  purpose,  the  same  longing  to  be  up 
and  doing,  now  that  there  was  once  more  hope  of  something  to 
do. 

Amongst  the  many  chiefs  there  assembled,  there  were  but 
two  of  those  who  had  been  guests  at  McGuire’s  board  on  that 
fatal  night  when  he  and  McMahon  had  fallen  into  the  toils  of 
the  enemy.  Philip  O’Reilly  and  Tirlogh  O’Neill  were  these  two, 
and  heavy  were  the  hearts  of  both  as  the  joyous  hilarity  of  that 
scene  arose  before  them.  A shade  of  sadness  was  on  O’Reilly’s 
calm  face,  and  as  he  turned  involuntarily  to  speak  his  thoughts 
to  Art  McMahon  who  sat  next  him,  his  voice  trembled  with  emo- 
tion as  memory  brought  back  the  young,  buoyant,  jovial  coun- 
tenance of  poor  Costelloe — the  last  sight  he  had  of  him.  What 
O’Reilly  said  to  McMahon  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  heard  not,  but 
guessing  from  the  expression  on  the  face  of  either  chieftain  the 
thoughts  which  filled  the  soul  of  each,  he  addressed  himself  to 
McMahon : 

“ Chieftain  of  Uriel,”  said  he,  “ be  not  cast  down  with  mourn- 
ful recollections — there  is  still  hope  for  your  brother,  and  even 
were  there  none,  you  have  cause  to  rejoice  in  that  the  first  sacri- 
fice of  propitiation  was  demanded  and  accepted  from  your  noble 
and  ever  faithful  house.”' 

“ Alas  ! Colonel,”  replied  the  chief  sadly,  “ you  speak  as  one 
who  never  had  a brother — you  know  not,  cannot  know  how  I 
loved  that  light-hearted  brother  of  mine,  and  oh  God ! to  think 
what  torments  he  hath  undergone  since  last  mine  eyes  beheld 
him — had  he  fallen  in  honorable  warfare,  ay ! though  it  were 
but  in  the  Spanish  wars,*  methinks  I could  resign  him  into  the 
hands  of  Providence  without  a sigh,  but  this  living  death  to 
which  he  is  doomed — nay,  talk  not  to  me  of  being  resigned’’ — 
this  to  O’Rourke  who  was  seated  near  him — •“  I cannot,  will  not 
be  resigned  while  my  only  brother  languishes  in  a noisome  vault 
of  Dublin  Castle.  Oh ! the  heavy,  heavy  sorrow !” 

* Costelloe  McMahon  had  served  with  distinction  in  the  Spanish 
army.  - 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


69 


“Heavy  it  may  be,  Art,”  said  the  princely  O’Rourko  with  a 
deep-drawn  sigh,  “ but — but — the  load  is  not  all  your  own  to 
carry — others  have  had  brothers — oh,  how  dear  ! — and  lost 
them,  too,  since  this  war  began !” 

The  touching  sadness  of  O’Rourke’s  tone  was  well  understood 
by  all,  and  many  a hand  was  raised  to  dash  away  the  trickling 
tear  from  eyes  little  used  to  weep.  O’Neill  had  heard,  since  his 
arrival,  the  story  of  O’Rourke’s  wrongs,  and  now  seeing  the  sub- 
dued anguish  so  visible  on  the  chieftain’s  noble  features,  with  his 
stem  repression  of  all  outward  emotion,  his  heart  warmed  to 
him,  and  he  said  within  himself : 

“ Ay  ! there  is  a man  tit  to  lead  others,  for  surely  he  well  doth 
govern  himself,”  and  involuntarily  he  bowed  his  head  before  the 
majesty  of  sorrow  so  plainly  stamped  on  the  chieftain’s  brow. 

“ You  speak  truly,  Owen  O’Rourke,”  cried  Roderick  Maguire 
with  that  impetuosity  which,  unlike  his  brother,  ever  distinguish- 
ed his  words  and  actions ; “ we  all  have  our  crows  to  pluck  with 
the  truculent  Lord  Justices,  and  their  minions — for  me  I can- 
not think  of  these  things  without  feeling  for  my  trusty  skene — 
had  I mine  own  way,  Colonel  O’Neill,  we  should  long  ere  now 
have  marched  straightways  to  Dublin  and  burned  the  city  over 
the  heads  of  our  cowardly  tyrants  an’  they  gave  us  not  back  our 
brothers  safe  and  sound ” 

“ Ay,  marry,”  said  his  uncle  Lorcan  with  the  solemn  dignity 
which  he  thought  became  his  age,  “ were  it  not  for  the  warnings 
received  from  the  guardian  spirits-  of  our  house,  me  thinks  Rory 
would  have  led  his  own  followers  on  that  rash  enterprize — is  it 
not  so,  nephew  V’ 

“ Nonsense,  uncle,”  was  the  irreverent  and  somewhat  indeco- 
rous answer,  “ what  care  I for  the  spirits  or  their  warnings,  and 
that  I have  told  you  full  many  a time !” 

“ Have  a care,  nephew,  have  a care,”  and  the  old  man  shook 
his  white  head  with  a warning  gesture  ^ “ your  speech  is  far  other 
than  becoming — the  spirits  who  have  care  of  us  are  not  to  be 
lightly  spoken  of,  as  you  may  one  day  be  brought  to  confess. 
Heed  not  his  rash  words,  Colonel  O’Neill, — he  is  young  and  hot- 
headed, but  a brave  fellow  withal,  as  the  Englishers  in  these 
parts  can  toll  to  their  cost — a child  he  is  in  wisdom,  honored  sir, 


70 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


but,  take  an  old  man’s  word  for  it,  he  can  do  a good  man’s  work 
when  the  falchion  is  in  his  hand  and  the  Puritan  enemy  before 
him !” 

“ That  were  easy  to  believe,”  said  0 Neill,  courteously,  “ even 
though  the  testimony  were  less  worthy  of  credence — it  is  but  to 
look  at  Roderick  Maguire  and  we  see  the  noble  courage  of  his 
race  stamped  on  every  feature !” 

“ Courage  alone  is  little  worth,”  observed  Rory  with  a reprov- 
ing look  at  his  uncle  ; “ an  ounce  of  your  experience,  Colonel,  is 
worth  a pound  of  it ; however,  that  will  come  in  time,  an’  the 
enemy  Jiold  out.” 

During  this  incidental  conversation  many  of  the  chiefs  had 
been  discussing  in  a low,  suppressed  voice  the  relative  merits  of 
the  different  commanders  already  in  the  field.  Some  made  hon- 
orable mention  of  Mountgarret,  others  thought  Muskerry  the  bet- 
ter officer,  while  others  still  were  inclined  to  give  General  Barry 
the  first  place,  as  being,  they  maintained,  the  most  successful  cap- 
tain who  had  yet  appeared  on  the  side  of  the  Confederates. 
“ Witness,”  said  McMahon,  “ his  recent  capture  of  Liscarroll 
Castle.*  That  I take  to  be  the  noblest  achievement  of  this  war 
as  far  as  it  hath  gone  yet.  Nay,  nay,  O’Hanlon,  I understand 
your  gesture — you  would  remind  me  of  the  taking  of  Newry  by 
our  friend  here  present — the  which  I have  not  forgotten.  That, 
however,  was  partly  a surprise,  as  Iveagh  himself  will  own,  but 
this  new  feat  of  Barry’s — ” 

“ Is,  as  you  say,  McMahon,  the  greatest  thing  done  yet,”  said 
the  generous  chieftain  of  Iveagh,  “ and  I am  free  to  admit  that 
Barry  is  a brave  and  skilful  officer,  but  I am  much  mistaken  if 
a greater  than  he  hath  not  come  amongst  us — ay,  and  one  of  ,our 
own  race,  too.” 

A murmur  of  applause  greeted  this  speech,  and  Netterville 
laid  his  hand  on  Owen  O’Neill’s  shoulder,  as  though  he  would 

* Belonging  to  Sir  Philip  Percival.  Lord  Inchiquin  declared  it  the 
strongest  castle  he  had  seen  in  Ireland.  General  Barry  took  it  after 
a siege  of  thirteen  days,  although  the  ground  around  was  so  marshy 
that,  in  order  to  bring  his  guns  within  range,  be  was  forced  to  dis- 
mount them. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


71 


have  said : “ Thou  art  the  man !”  But  O’Neill  little  heeded  the 
act,  for  his  eyes  were  at  that  time  rivetted  on  a tall,  dignified 
personage  who  had  just  made  his  appearance  at  one  of  the  side 
doors,  and  stood  there  looking  on  with  a sort  of  paternal  smile 
on  his  thin  dark  features.  Before  any  movement  on  his  part 
had  revealed  his  presence,  several  of  the  chiefs  called  out  simul- 
taneously: “Bishop  M£Sweeny  of  Kilmore !”  and  instantly  all 
were  on  their  feet,  bowing  reverentially  to  the  smiling  prelate  as 
he  greeted  them  collectively  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

“ Welcome  to  Charlemont,  my  lord,”  said  Sir  Phelim  advanc- 
ing with  a surly  attempt  at  condescension,  “ albeit  that  I know 
we  are  indebted  for  the  favor  to  the  arrival  of  my  honorable 
kinsman.” 

“ I deny  it  not,  fair  sir,”  said  the  lordly  prelate,  as  his  eye, 
running  round  the  stately  circle,  rested  on  OwenBoe  ; “ I am,  as 
thou  knowest,  a man  of  peace,  and  am  out  of  my  element  in  the 
company  of  warrior-men.  If  I am  here  now,  it  is  with  serious 
intent  affecting  the  country’s  and  the  church’s  weal.  I need  not 
ask  which  is  Colonel  O’Neill,”  that  officer  was  already  bending 
low  before  him,  and  when  he  at  length  raised  his  head,  the  good 
bishop  stood  a moment  looking  fixedly  on  his  face,  then  laying 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  he  said  with  much  emotion : 

“ Bless  you,  my  son,  bless  you,  soldier  of  the  cross  !”  and  with 
his  thumb  he  made  the  sacred  sign  on  the  high,  smooth  forehead 
of  the  chief. 

“ Will  your  lordship  honor  us  by  taking  a seat  at  our  board  V 1 
said  O’Neill  respectfully;  “ if  so,  mine  is  at  your  service!”  and 
leading  him  up  the  room  he  would  have  placed  him  in  the  presi- 
dential chair  which  honor  the  bishop  declined. 

“ I pray  you  excuse  me,  Colonel,  but  my  right  reverend 

brother  of  Cloglier  must  needs  be  here  ere  long,  and ” 

“ Your  right  reverend  brother  of  Clogher  is  much  beholden  to 
your  lordship,”  said  a cheerful  voice  from  the  still  open  door, 
“ but,  on  the  old  principle  of  first  come,  first  served,  the  seat  is 
yours  beyond  all  doubt.  I might  have  got  the  start  of  you,  my 

lord,  were  it  not  for  a mishap  which  befel  Malachy ” 

“How!  whatl”  exclaimed  the  chieftain  of  Uriel,  advancing 


72 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


with  a flushed  and  anxious  countenance ; “ no  evil,  I trust,  hath 
come  unto  him — how  is  it,  my  lord  V ’ 

“ Nay,  cousin,  the  matter  is  not  so  serious  that  you  need  be 
disturbed  in  mind” — and  the  prelate  smiled  with  that  good  humor 
which  made  him  so  generally  popular — “ it  was  but  that  having 
met  a red-haired  woman  at  our  starting  this  morning,  the  which, 
you  know,  Art,  he  deemeth  to  denote  ill  luck,*  and  being  unable 
to  persuade  me  to  return  with  him  and  commence  the  journey 
anew,  the  poor  fellow  betook  himself  home  again  in  much  dis- 
tress of  mind  for  that  I,  a bishop,  should  be  obstinate  in  running 
the  risk  of  some  mishap.  Neither  could  I,  by  any  means,  reason 
him  out  of  his  own  notion,  and  so  home  he  went,  notwithstand- 
ing his  unwillingness  to  see  me  depart  without  attendance.” 

“ And  I say  it  here  in  presence  of  all  these  noble  chiefs,  and 
I ask  McMahon  an’  it  be  not  so, — that  your  lordship  is  no  more 
fit  to  journey  alone  in  these  perilous  times  than  a child  of  a year 
old.  If  you  weren’t  as  simple  as  a child  with  all  your  learn- 
ing, you’d  be  as  feared  of  meeting  a red-haired  woman  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning  as  myself  or  any  one  else.*’ 

When  the  chieftains  had  enjoyed  their  hearty  laugh  at  Ma- 
lachy’s  expense,  for  Malachy  himself  was  the  speaker — that  grave 
individual  bowed  all  round  with  a most  deferential  air ; and 
again  his  solemn  voice  was  heard : 

“ Save  you  kindly,  noble  Chiefs  of  Ulladh,  it  isn’t  among  the 
likes  of  you  the  likes  of  me  should  open  his  mouth,  and  I 
wouldn’t  set  foot  in  the  room  with  you  all  to  the  fore,  no,  not  for 
a mint  of  money,  only  when  once  I got  sight  of  his  lordship 
there,  I kept  him  in  view  till  he  camo  in  here,  and  then  I thought 
I might  as  well  take  a peep  at  what  was  going  on,  and  see  if  I 
could  get  a sight  of  the  great  O’Neill  that  was  so  long  spoken  of 
in  prophecy.” 

With  the  condescending  grace  of  a polished  gentleman,  O'Neill 
advanced  and  reached  his  hand  to  Malachy,  to  the  no  small  sur- 
prise of  the  simple  follower  of  McMahon  who  looked  as  it’  he 
doubted  the  reality  of  so  glorious  a vision.  A few  kind  words 

* This  superstition  is  common  amongt  the  peasantry  of  the  northern 
province. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  73 

from  the  colonel,  however,  and  a smile  of  encouragement  from 
the  bishop  and  the  chief  whose  eyes  he  sought  for  confirmation 
of  his  doubts,  set  the  poor  fellow  at  rest  on  that  head,  and  with 
a gesture  expressive  of  wonder  and  delight  he  bowed  himself 
out  of  w}iat  he  considered  the  most  august  presence  in  the  land 
of  Ireland. 

The  presence  of  the  Bishop  of  Clogher  did  not  appear  to 
excite  quite  the  same  enthusiasm  amongst  the  chiefs  as  in  for- 
mer times  it  did,  and  it  might  be  that  the  prelate  felt  that,  for 
his  manper  indicated  the  slightest  possible  degree  of  reserve,  a 
thing  all  unusual  with  him,  and,  as  people  thought,  foreign  to 
his  frank  and  hearty  character.  In  the  bearing  of  the  chiefs 
towards  him  there  was  now  nothing  more  than  the  respect  due 
to  his  high  office,  but  whatever  it  was  that  had  brought  this 
change  about,  no  one  appeared  willing  to  have  it  observed  by 
Owen  O’Neill,  or  Sir  John  Netterville.  Bishop  McMahon,  as  the 
senior  of  his  right  reverend  brother  was,  therefore,  placed  in  the 
chair  of  authority,  and  then  the  council  was  formally  opened  by 
Sir  Con  Magennis,  who,  rising  from  his  seat  with  much  dignity, 
requested  Colonel  O’Neill  to  state  what  his  hopes  were  with  re- 
gard to  present  and  future  succor  from  abroad. 

Owen  Roe  O’Neill  was  no  orator — few  military  leaders  are — 
but  his  views,  clearly  conceived,  were  clearly  expressed  in  a 
concise  and  forcible  manner,  which,  together  with  the  calm  dig- 
nity of  his  mien  and  his  perfect  self-possession,  was  sure  to 
impress  favorably  all  those  who  heard  him.  Being  thus  called 
upon,  he  arose,  and,  bowing  to  the  bishops,  then  around  to  the 
chiefs,  he  stated,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  what  his  expecta- 
tions were  with  regard  to  foreign  aid. 

“ I myself,”  said  he,  “ have  with  me  one  hundred  officers  of  good 
standing,  whose  experience  will  profit  us  much — also  arms  and 
ammunition  for  a force  of  a thousand  men  or  thereabouts — these 
await  my  orders  at  Doe  Castle,  in  Donegal,  which  we  succeeded 
in  taking  from  those  who  held  it  for  the  enemy.” 

As  soon  as  he  could  make  his  voice  heard  above  the  loud 
chorus  of  applause  which  greeted  his  ears  on  every  side,  O’Neill 
resumed  his  discourse  with  the  same  composure  as  before : 

“ Cardinal  Richelieu,”  said  he,  “ as  I learn  from  under  his  own 
14 


74 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


hand,  is  at  present  fitting  out  some  ten  or  twelve  vessels  for  our 
support,  the  which  will  reach  our  waters,  if  nothing  adverse 
happen  to  them,  early  in  the  coming  autumn — his  Catholic 
Majesty  of  Spain  gives  ine  his  royal  word  that  the  ship  which  he 
hath  given  to  convey  us  hither,  shall  speedily  he  followed  by 
others  laden  with  all  things  needful  for  our  uses,  and  I have  it 
from  the  mouth  of  one  whose  word  none  of  you  will,  methinks, 
doubt,  that  is  Father  Luke  Wadding — that  the  Holy  father,  out 
of  his  small  means,  is  about  to  send  to  his  children  of  Ireland 
such  subsidies  of  money  and  arms  as  will  surprise  them.” 

This  announcement,  with  the  mention  of  Wadding’s  name, 
called  forth  another  burst  of  applause,  louder  and  more  pro- 
longed than  before,  and,  by  the  time  it  was  ended,  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill  was  on  his  legs,  and  scowling  with  one  of  his  blackest 
looks  on  the  assembly. 

“ This,  or  something  like  it,  have  we  heard  full  often  ere  now,” 
said  he,  “ ay  ! before  ever  a sword  was  drawn  or  a pike  raised 
against  the  enemy.  Strange  to  say,  not  one  of  these  fine  promises 
was  ever  fulfilled,  and  we  were  none  the  better  that  ever  I could 
see,  for  our  foreign  expectations — pshaw  ! far-off  cows  have  long 
horns,  and  it  may  well  be  that  the  great  Richelieu  and  Philip  of 
Spain,  not  to  speak  of  the  Pope  of  Rome,  have  their  hands  so 
full  at  this  present  moment  as  to  leave  little  room  for  our  affairs. 
Methinks,  with  all  respect  for  potentates  and  people  beyond  seas, 
that  every  chief  here  present  hath  in  his  own  proper  person 
done  more  for  the  cause  than  we  can  ever  reasonably  expect 
from  tliemJ' 

“ That  no  one  will  gainsay,  cousin  mine,”  said  Owen  kindly, 
“ and  may  Heaven  forget  me  when  I forget  what  hath  been  done 
by  you  all ! Still  the  war  hath  now  reached  a stage  when  for- 
eign aid  is  necessary  to  us — how  otherwise  could  we  think  to  cope 
with  Ormond,  Inchiquin,  Broghill,  Vavasour,  young  Coote,  and 
other  captains  of  high  renown  in  the  south,  east  and  west,  with 
Stewart,  Cole,  and  Montgomery  here  at  your  very  doors — all 
more  or  less  provided  now  with  the  means  of  continuing  the 
war  1 Of  Monroe’s  force  in  Carrick  I speak  not  now,  for,  what- 
ever be  the  object  of  the  Parliament  of  England  in  sending  them 
thither,  they  appear  at  present  little  disposed  for  active  service. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


75 


With  the  generals  I have  mentioned  already  in  the  field,  and  every 
prospect  of  speedy  aid  from  England  for  cur  enemies,  what  could 
we  do  without  officers  to  train  our  raw  and  undisciplined  forces, 
and  arms  and  ammunition  to  put  in  their  hands  when  they  are 
taught  to  use  them  1” 

Some  cutting  remark  of  Sir  Phelim’s  was  stopt  short  by  Philip 
O’Reilly,  who  hastened  to  prevent  what  he  knew  might  breed 
discord. 

“ That  we  stand  in  sore  need  of  help  from  abroad,  Colonel 
O’Neill,  no  one  here  doubts,  that  we  shall  have  it  in  due  time, 
is,  I think,  well  nigh  as  certain — we  came  not  hither  to  discuss 
that  point,  but  rather,  it  appears  to  me,  to  choose  a leader  for 
our  future  operations.  How  is  it,  friends  and  brother  chieftains, 
and  ye,  our  reverend  lords ! are  we  come  together  with  that 
intent,  or  are  we  not  1” 

“ Surely  yes,”  was  the  simultaneous  answer. 

“ Let  my  lord  of  Clogher,  then,  of  his  goodness,  put  it  to  the 
council  whether  we  have  found  the  man  to  whom  all  will  cheer- 
fully yield  obedience,” 

“ Chieftains  of  Ulster,”  said  the  bishop  rising  with  the  dignity 
which  became  his  office,  “ the.  war  which  you  were  the  first  to 
undertake  for  the  sacred  cause  of  religion  and  liberty  has,  with 
the  blessing  of  God,  become  general  throughout  the  nation. 
Like  the  mustard-seed  spoken  of  in  the  Gospel  your  attempt  has 
been  followed  by  so  great  results  that  we  may  liken  it  to  a 
mighty  tree  overshadowing  all  the  land.  The  whole  country  is 
astir;  the  princes  and  chiefs,  and  tribes  of  the  old  blood  are  not 
less  active  or  less  zealous  in  the  cause  than  the  chivalrous 
sons  of  the  stranger” — and  turning  his  head,  the  prelate  bowed 
slightly  to  Sir  John  Netterville.  who,  rising  from  his  seat,  returned 
the  graceful  and  welcome  compliment  with  a profound  reverence. 
“ The  enemy,  too,  is  putting  forth  all  his  powers,”  resumed  the 
bishop,  “ for  a last  desperate  effort.  It  behoveth  us,  then,  to 
place  a man  at  our  head — we  of  this  northern  province — who  may 
turn  our  resources  to  good  account,  and  do  credit  to  us  before 
friends  and  foes.  Such  a one  stands  now  before  you  in  the  per- 
son of  Colonel  Owen  O’Neill,  a man  who  hath  the  skill  and  the 
prudence  to  marshal  our  clans  and  lead  them  on  to  victory.  His 


76 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


veins  are  filled,  moreover,  with  the  blood  of  Con,  and  the  glory 
of  the  Hy-Nials  is  his  by  birthright.” 

“ In  the  name  of  our  holy  mother,  the  church,”  said  Bishop 
McSweeny  with  that  impressive  solemnity  which  ever  character- 
ized him,  “Ido  hereby  nominate  Colonel  O’Neill  as  the  chief 
captain  of  our  northern  army.” 

“ And  I,  too,  my  good  lord,”  said  he  of  Clogher,  “ well  know- 
ing, as  doth  your  lordship,  the  opinion  of  our  reverend  brethren 
of  the  episcopate  on  this  head.” 

“ Chieftains  of  the  North !”  said  Sir  Con  Magennis,  rising  in 
his  turn,  “ it  is  now  for  you  to  confirm,  as  I know  you  will,  the 
appointment  just  made  in  the  name  of  that  church  for  whose 
freedom  still  more  than  our  own  we  draw  the  sword.” 

“ Before  we  proceed  farther  in  this  matter,”  said  Owen  Roe 
with  his  usual  calmness  and  self-possession,  “ I would  know  of 
my  honored  and  valorous  cousin  here  present  whether  he  is 
willing  to  resign  in  my  favor  that  command  which  he  hath  held 
in  your  army — it  is  surely  not  under  this  roof,”  and  he  pointed 
upwards,  “ that  the  services  of  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  can  be 
overlooked !” 

“Well  said,  Owen,”  cried  Tirlo^h,  taking  the  word  from  his 
brother’s  mouth ; “ there  was  a day  when  but  to  speak  of  Charle- 
mont  or  Dungannon  in  these  parts  made  men  cheer  till  their 
throats  were  hoarse  for  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill.  Forsooth!  times  are 
changed,  and  though  tQngues  can  wag  glibly  in  praise  of  the 
Norman  Barry  and  other  such  mongrel  whelps,  there  be  none 
to  say  a word  for  Phelim  O’Neill,  or  the  towns  and  castles  he 
was  wont  to  take.” 

Many  of  the  chiefs  started  up  at  the  same  moment,  eager  to 
protest  against  Tirlogh’s  ill-mannered  allusion  to  their  brethren 
of  the  Pale,  but  Sir  John  Netterville  was  already  on  his  feet,  his 
fine  face  covered  with  a crimson  glow,  and  an  angry  frown  knit- 
ting his  usually  sunny  brow. 

“ Chieftains  and  noble  gentlemen,”  said  he,  “ I have  listened 
with  much  interest  to  the  several  speakers,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  result  of  your  deliberations  with  unmixed  satisfaction, 
knowing  as  I do  that  this  gallant  officer  will  be  in  himself  an 
accession  of  strength  to  our  common  cause.  Had  a thunderbolt 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


77 


fallen  in  our  midst  I could  not  have  been  nore  astounded  than  I 
was  by  the  speech  of  the  gentleman  from  Tyrone.  It  is  my 
pride  and  privilege  to  know  General  Barry,  and  I beg  to  assure 
Master  Tirlogh  O’Neill  that  Norman  though  he  be  his  heart  is 
centred  in  this  cause — ay,  truly,  to  the  full  as  rhuch  as  though 
all  the  blood  of  the  Hy-Nials  were  in  his  veins — he  is  my  cousin, 
I am  proud  to  say,  and  the  term  ‘ mongrel  whelp’  I cast  back  in 
the  face  of  him  who  spoke  it.  Purer  blood  is  not  within  the 
Pale  than  that  which  courseth  through  the  veins  of  Robert 
Barry.” 

“ I know  not  an’  there  be  any  pure  blood  within  the  Pale,’* 
retorted  the  fiery  Ulsterman,  but  before  he  could  add  another 
word,  both  the  bishops  enjoined  him  to  keep  silent,  and  with  the 
air  of  a surly,  disappointed  mastiff,  he  was  fain  to  take  his  seat, 
but  Sir  Phelim  was  up  in  an  instant. 

“ I would  know,”  said  he,  “ before  we  go  farther  in  this  mat- 
ter, by  what  right  Sir  John  Netterville  is  here  present.  But  sel- 
dom do  we  see  those  of  his  race  in  these  northern  wilds  of  ours. 
I demand  his  business  whatsoever  it  be — for  without  business  he 
came  not  here !” 

“ Business  I have,  Sir  Phelim,”  replied  Netterville  proudly, 
“ but  other  tongue  than  yours  must  needs  put  the  question  ere  I 
answer  it” — and  turning  he  bowed  to  Colonel  O’Neill 

“ An’  your  coming,”  said  Owen,  “ have,  as  I opine,  aught  to 
do  with  the  affairs  of  the  Confederation,  we  will  hold  ourselves 
obliged,  fair  sir,  an’  you  name  it.” 

“ There  is  at  once  my  errand  and  my  credentials,”  said  Net- 
terville, as  he  handed  an  unsealed  document  to  O’Neill,  request- 
ing him  to  read  it  aloud.  It  was  a letter  from  Lord  Mountgar- 
ret,  president  of  the  Supreme  Council,  to  Sir  John  Netterville, 
requesting  that  young  knight  to  ascertain  by  a journey  into  the 
northern  territories  in  what  state  of  preparation  the  chieftains 
were,  what  aid  might  be  expected  from  them,  and  whether  Colo- 
nel O’Neill,  so  long  looked  for,  had  as  yet  arrived  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  northern  army. 

Sir  Phelim  was  about  to  speak,  but  Bishop  McMahon  arose 
and  with  a dignified  gesture  motioned  him  to  keep  his  seat. 

“ Here,  then,  Colonel,  is  another  appointment,”  said  the  Bi- 


78 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


shop  with  a cordial  smile ; “ the  Supreme  Council,  you  see, 
hath  already  fixed  on  you  for  the  northern  leader — Chieftains 
of  Ulster,  I need  not  ask  if  you  be  of  the  same  mind — the 
Church  hath  spoken  by  two  of  her  prelates,  the  National  Coun- 
cil by  its  President — for  you  the  final  decision  is  reserved — I 
pray  you  stand  up,  and  whosoever  is  willing  to  have  Owen  Roe 
O’Neill  for  general  of  the  Ulster  forces,  will  hold  up  his  right 
hand.” 

Instantly  all  were  on  their  feet,  and  of  all  the  chieftains  pre- 
sent not  one  refused  to  hold  up  his  hand  save  Tirlogh  O’Neill, 
for  Phelim  himself  did  as  all  the  others,  although  there  was  a 
scowl  on  his  brow  that  portended  no  good.  All  eyes  were 
turned  on  the  fierce  Tanist  of  Tyrone,  but  before  any  one  could 
speak,  his  brother  approached  him  behind  and  whispered  in  his 
ear,  “ For  my  sake  do  it,  Tirlogh !”  when  all  at  once  the  sinewy 
hand  shot  upwards,  but  the  effort  was  too  much  for  poor  Tir- 
logh, and  covering  his  face  with  his  left  hand  he  fairly  burst 
into  tears,  and  the  stout  man  sobbed  like  a petted  child. 

More  than  one  of  the  chieftains  manifested  a wish  to  speak  to 
the  brothers,  but  the  bishop  made  a sign  for  them  to  take  no 
notice,  and  after  a moment’s  pause  he  spoke  again  : 

“ Chieftains,  it  is  well,”  said  he,  uwe  are  now  to  consider  Co- 
lonel Owen  O’Neill  as  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  forces  to  be 
raised  in  this  province.  Duly  appointed  we  hold  him  to  be ” 

“ Not  yet,  my  lord,”  said  a deep  voice  from  the  door  just 
behind  the  bishop’s  ; “ another  word  remains  to  be  spoken  and 
by  me !” 

“And  who  are  you?”  demanded  the  prelate,  turning  quickly 
round  to  where  all  eyes  were  already  fixed  on  a good  looking 
young  man  who  had  just  entered.  He  was  clothed  in  a truis 
and  jacket  of  grass-green  hue,  with  a leather  belt  encircling  his 
finely  moulded  form,  and  a glittering  skene  thrust  in  behind  its 
clasp.  On  his  head  was  the  graceful  and  becoming  barradh,  but 
strangely  enough  his  right  arm  was  encircled  above  the  elbow 
by  a broad  fillet  of  the  coarsest  brown  drugget,  with  a large 
patch  right  on  the  front  of  the  arm. 

A shout  of  welcome  recognition  from  many  of  the  chiefs 
greeted  the  apparition,  while  Netterville,  approaching  Owen  Roe, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


79 


whispered  in  his  ear : “ Good  heavens ! ifc  is  our  guide  of  yester- 
day, hut  how  metamorphised !” 

“ I know  it,”  said  O’Neill,  “ but,  hist!  he  speaks  !’* 

“ In  the  name  of  the  Rapparee  force  of  Ulster,  whose  un- 
worthy Captain  I am,  I do  hereby  give  to  General  Owen  Roo 
O’Neill  the  full  and  entire  command  of  that  body — though  I say 
it,  he  may  find  their  aid  most  effective,  as  Sir  Con  Magennis,  Sir 
Phelim,  and  others  of  the  chiefs  will  bear  witness  !” 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  O’Neill — stranger  to  the  country  as  he 
might  be  considered — instead  of  slighting  or  mocking  at  this 
new  appointment,  advanced  to  Donogh  and  took  his  hand,  say- 
ing in  all  sincerity : 

“ I accept  the  offer,  friend,  and  will  look  to  your  force  as  one 
of  the  main  supports  of  our  future  action  ! Acting  in  conjunction 
with  our  disciplined  forces,  you  may  and  will  do  us  good  ser- 
vice !” 

Netterville  felt  much  inclined  to  laugh,  but  there  was  that  in 
the  bearing  of  the  young  Rapparee  leader,  for  such  Donogh  was, 
that,  coupled  with  the  respectful  manner  of  O’Neill  and  the 
chiefs,  sobered  down  even  his  levity,  and  placed  him  on  his  guard. 
Having  said  what  he  deemed  necessary,  Donogh  bowed  with  an 
air  of  dignity  that  surprised  Netterville,  and  quietly  resumed  the 
place  whence  he  had  stepped  forward. 


80 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

“ The  fiery  soul  abhorr’d  in  Catiline, 

In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine  : 

The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  save, 

And  make  a patriot,  as  it  makes  a knave.” 

Pope’s  Essay  on  Man , 

“ Tho’  thy  slumbers  may  be  deep, 

Yet  thy  spirit  shall  not  sleep  ; 

There  are  shades  that  will  not  vanish, 

There  are  thoughts  thou  canst  not  banish.” 

Byron’s  Manfred. 

The  Council,  or  rather  the  meeting,  had  not  yet  broken  up, 
when  by  the  side  of  the  Rapparee  Captain,  where  he  stood  lean- 
ing on  the  handle  of  his  pike  leisurely  watching  the  proceedings, 
there  appeared  another  individual  similarly  dressed  and  accou- 
tred, Avith  the  single  exception  of  the  head-gear  which,  instead 
of  the  hanging  cap  worn  by  Donogh,  was  a small  round  cap  of 
scarlet  cloth,  tastefully  ornamented  with  a black  feather  which, 
as  the  young  Rapparee  was  wont  to  boast,  had  not  long  before 
shaded  the  haughty  brow  of  an  English  officer,  slain  by  his  hand 
in  the  battle  of  Kilrusli.  Having  exchanged  a silent  nod  with 
his  captain  the  new-comer  calmly  waited,  as  it  would  seem,  the 
close  of  the  deliberations.  Silent  they  both  stood,  until  Sir  Phelim 
had  been  forced  into  resigning  his  authority  to  his  kinsman, 
when  the  younger  of  the  Rapparees  spoke  out  in  a voice  so  clear 
and  distinct  that  it  rang  through  the  vaulted  chamber  like  a 
trumpet : 

“ More  than  that  must  you  do,  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill ! — the  sword 
of  the  great  Hugh  rests  in  your  gift — it  belongs  to  Oaven  Roe  in 
the  high  decrees  of  heaven !” 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  on  the  speaker,  and  Sir  Phelim 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


81 


exclaimed  with  a burst  *>f  indignation  : “ Before  God,  it  is  Angus 
Dhu,  whom  I did  heretofore  so  highly  favor — I see  he  hath  a 
knack  of  feigning  madness  at  times — beware,  rash  youth  ! how 
you  anger  me  now, — 'beware,  I tell  you ! — for,  by  the  Book!  fal- 
len as  you  deem  me,  I will  speedily  have  that  dainty  head  of 
yours  hoisted  on  a pike  an’  you  address  me  in  such  wise — ay, 
though  fifty  Owen  Roes  were  to  the  fore !” 

“ You  shall  do  as  I bid  you,”  said  Angus  solemnly,  “ and  that 
within  the  hour,  or  the  Green  Lady*  shall  walk  under  a thick 
veil  this  night ” 

“ Angus  ! Angus ! this  to  my  chief'?”  cried  a reproachful  voice 
from  behind,  and  Shamus  Beg  rushing  in  breathless  caught  his 
friend  by  the  neck  as  though  he  meant  to  strangle  him.  It  was 
in  love,  however,  not  in  anger,  as  his  words  proved : “ I told 
you  to  have  nothing  to  say  in  it,”  said  Shamus,  while  the  big 
tears  of  anguish  streamed  down  his  rough  cheek ; “ you  often 
said  you’d  do  anything  in  the  world  for  me,  and  still  you  wouldn’t 
do  this — oh  Angus  ! brother  of  my  heart !”  and  he  grasped  his 
two  hands  and  looked  steadily  in  his  face,  “how  could  you  for- 
get that  what  you  say  to  him  is  said  to  Shamus 
“ I did  not  forget,  Shamus  !”  the  youth  replied  with  deep  feel- 
ing, “ but  what  Heaven  wills  man  must  do — that  sword  was 

never  meant  for  the  hand  of  Phelim  the  cruel ” 

“ Angus !”  cried  Shamus  with  rising  anger,  “ I cannot  stand 
this — we  must  fight,  an’  the  one  mother  had  borne  us,  if  you 
dare  to  say  such  words  again  !” 

“ Let  the  boy  alone,  Shamus,”  said  Donogh  with  the  quiet 
consciousness  of  high  authority ; “he  hath  told  us  things  to  come 
many  times  ere  now,  and  I will  not  that  you  cross  him  in  this 
matter,  for  he  knows  well  what  he  says,  take  my  word  for  it !” 
Shamus  grumbled  a little,  but  for  some  reason  known  to  himself 
thought  fit  to  retire  without  more  ado. 

* The  Green  Lady  of  the  O’Neills  is,  or  at  least  was,  a generation 
or  so  hack,  well  known  in  the  ancient  territory  of  the  Hy-Nial.  Like 
all  the  great  families  of  Celtic  origin  both  in  Scotland  and  Ireland, 
the  O’Neills  had,  or  were  supposed  to  have,  this  guardian  spirit  to 
preside  over  their  destinies. 


82 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


All  eyes  had  been  attracted  by  this  strange  scene,  and  many 
of  the  chiefs  smiled  to  each  other  as  they  remembered  the  former 
meeting  which  Angus  had  in  like  manner  interrupted,  stemming 
with  his  single  voice  the  fast-rolling  current  of  their  faint-hearted 
fears.  Even  the  bishops  looked  the  anxious  curiosity  which  they 
did  not  care  to  express. 

Owen  Roe  alone  manifested  neither  surprise  nor  curiosity, 
whatever  his  inward  emotions  might  have  been,  although  an  at- 
tentive observer  might  have  noticed  a heightened  color  on  his 
cheek. 

Tirlogh  O’Neill,  almost  beside  himself  with  anger,  called  upon 
his  brother  to  have  the  daring  intruder  committed  to  the  dungeon 
immediately,  but  Angus  only  smiled. 

“ Sir  Phelim  will  do  no  such  thing,”  said  he  ; “ he  knows  my 
words  are  not  of  wind — answer  me,  Phelim  MacHenry  ! will  you, 
or  will  you  not,  do  as  I say 

“ Now,  by  my  mother’s  honor,  boy !”  said  Sir  Phelim  with 
passionate  warmth,  “ you  are  either  mad  or  something  worse. 
How  could  I give  up  the  sword  of  Hugh  to  one  who  hath  the 
bend  sinister  on  his  coat  of  arms'?” 

“ What  does  he  say  V’  inquired  Angus,  whose  skill  in  heraldry 
wras  evidently  but  small,  yet  seeing  the  alarm  which  these  words 
had  excited  amongst  the  chiefs,  the  uproarious  applause  where- 
with Tirlogh  greeted  them,  and  the  perturbation  visible  for 
the  first  time  on  the  face  of  Owen  Roe,  the  youth  knew  full 
well  that  their  import  was  of  the  most  serious  nature.  . 

“ He  says,”  whispered  Donogh,  guessing  the  meaning  of  the 
words  from  Sir  Phelim’s  manner,  “ he  says,  what  we  all  know 
for  truth,  and  more’s  the  pity,  that  there’s  a cross  in  Owen’s 
blood,  and  for  that  reason  he  couldn’t  give  him  the  great  Earl’s 
sword !” 

“ Heed  him  not,  chiefs  and  nobles  !”  cried  Angus  darting*for- 
ward,  just  as  Owen  had  placed  himself  in  front  of  his  kinsman 
with  a kindling  eye  and  a blushing  cheek  ; “ heed  him  not — I 
tell  you  again  Owen  Roe  must  have  the  sword  of  Hugh,  ay ! 
must  he,  and  the  holy  bishops  here  present  shall  bless  it  for  his 
use.  Sir  Phelim,  go  fetch  the  sword  hither !” 

“ I will  not — may  not — must  not !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


83 


“ You  shall,  and  may,  and  must,  as  I win  prove  to  you  in  half 
a dozen  words,  an’  you  will  give  me  private  audience  for  so  long 
as  I may  speak  them ! ” 

There  was  that  in  the  eye,  the  dark,  flashing  eye  of  the  young 
Bapparee,  as  he  fixed  it  full  upon  him,  which  made  Sir  Phelim 
somehow  sensible  that  it  was  his  own  interest  to  give  the  re- 
quired audience,  especially  as  Donogh  said  in  his  calm,  impress- 
ive way : 

“ An’  you  take  my  advice,  Sir  Phelim,  you  will  do  as  the  lad 
wishes !” 

“ Sir  Phelim,”  said  Owen,  stepping  before  him  as  he  rose 
to  leave  the  room,  “ Sir  Phelim,  you  have  insulted  me  in  a way 
that,  according  to  the  usages  of  men  of  honor,  blood  only  could 
expiate — still,  as  no  one  here,  methinks,  will  doubt  my  courage, 
I will  not  so  far  forget  the  sacred  precepts  of  Him  whom  first  of 
all  I serve  as  to  bear  you  ill-will  on  account  thereof ; neither 
would  I willingly  commence  this  war,  which  I consider  a holy 
one,  by  giving  an  example  of  dissension,  that,  too,  with  one  of 
my  own  blood.  It  was,  however,  an  unkind  cut,  Sir  Phelim,  as 
little  honorable  to  you  as  to  me — go  now,  cousin,  if  it  so  please 
you !” 

Sir  Phelim  withdrew  in  some  confusion,  and  d uring  his  ab- 
sence little  was  said,  all  being  equally  interested  in  the  result  of 
the  mysterious  interview  going  on.  Ten  minutes  had  scarcely 
elapsed  when  Sir  Phelim  returned  alone,  with  the  fateful  sword 
in  his  hand,  the  rich  jewels  on  its  hilt  flashing  up  a ghastly  light 
on  a face  from  which  every  tinge  of  color  had  vanished.  Tirlogh 
jumped  from  his  seat  with  an  exclamation  of  indignant  surprise, 
and  reaching  his  brother  with  a bound  that  made  his  long  sword 
clatter  in  its  sheath,  he  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  his  shoulder. 

“ Phelim ! you  shall  not  do  it,”  he  said  vehemently ; “ you  dare 
not  do  it !” 

“Tirlogh!  I must ,”  his  brother  replied  in  an  under  tone; 
“ trouble  me  not  farther,  an’  you  love  me !”  And  on  he  marched 
towards  the  head  of  the  table  where  he  placed  the  sword  before 
the  bishops  with  a poor  attempt  at  a smile.  With  a heart-break- 
ing sigh  poor  Tirlogh  threw  himself  on  his  seat  once  more  ; he 
saw  that  his  brother’s  fiery  spirit  was  governed  by  some  stern  law 


84 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  necessity,  but  liis  fierce,  impetuous  nature  could  not  brook 
what  he  deemed  such  abject  submission,  while  his  strong  frater- 
nal affection  dipped  the  barbed  arrow  in  deadliest  poison. 
Still,  as  he  murmured  to  himself,  his  chieftain’s  will  was  law,  ay  \ 
more  binding  than  law  could  ever  be. 

It  was  a solemn  sight  to  see  when  the  bishops  standing,  as  all 
the  chieftains  did  likewise,  Bishop  MacMahon  called  Owen  Roe 
before  them  and  delivered  to  him  the  sword  of  Hugh  O’Neill. 

“ Take  this  sword,”  said  the  prelate,  “ and  use  it  as  becometh 
a Christian  soldier,  in  fair  and  legitimate  warfare  against  the  op- 
pressors of  God’s  faithful  people,  never  in  any  selfish  or  private 
quarrel,  nor  to  do  the  bidding  of  passion.  Take  it  and  use  it 
even  as  the  sword  of  Gideon  was  used  of  old,  but  see  that  it  be 
with  Christian  prudence  and  Christian  forbearance,  not  in  anger 
or  in  malice,  lest  you  sin  before  God  !” 

“ It  may  be,”  observed  Bishop  M ‘Sweeney,  “ that  the  great 
leader  who  wielded  that  weapon  so  valiantly,  was  not  always  as 
mindful  as  he  ought  of  the  jealous  God  in  whose  interests  he 
fought,  and  hence  his  fall,  when  all  the  Catholic  world  deemed 
him  to  stand  most  securely.  Profit  by  that  awful  warning, 
Owen  O’Neill,  so  that  to  you  it  may  be  given  to  steer  our  bark 
to  the  port  of  safety,  which  is  civil  and  religious  liberty  in  this 
realm!  Bless  you,  my  son,  bless  you!”  and  again  he  laid  his 
hand  on  the  noble  head  bent  before  him,  for  Owen  had  knelt  to 
receive  the  sword.  The  Bishop  of  Clogher  imitated  the  example 
of  his  reverend  brother,  and  after  some  further  cousultation  on 
the  military  movements  to  be  undertaken,  the  meeting  broke  up, 
and  the  chiefs  (due  honor  being  first  done  to  Sir  Phelim’s  hospi- 
tality) betook  themselves  to  their  respective  territories  to  forward 
what  men  they  could  for  Owen’s  new  army,  the  head-quarters  of 
which  were  for  the  present  fixed  at  Charlemont. 

By  that  evening’s  waning  light,  Owen  Roe  and  Sir  John 
Netterville  were  pacing  together  the  lofty  battlements  of  the 
Castle,  discoursing  of  many  things,  and  pausing  often  to  enjoy 
the  beauty  of  the  evening,  both  being  unconsciously  soothed 
and  calmed  by  the  hushed  repose  of  the  scene  around,  and  the 
deep  shadows  settling  down  on  the  dark-rolling  river  below. 
Much  was  O’Neill  interested  in  the  military  operations  of  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


85 


Southern  and  Eastern  Confederates  with  whom  Netterville  had 
so  long  been  acting,  and  he  listened  with  a soldier’s  ear  to  the 
tales  which  the  young  Norman  knight  loved  to  tell  concerning 
the  heroic  deeds  of  Dillons  and  Cusacks,  Aylmers*  and  Barry s, 
and  many  another  fine  old  family  of  the  English  Pale.  As  the 
moon  rose  over  the  towers  of  the  old  fortress,  throwing  their 
shadows  far  out  over  the  Blackwater,  and  giving  grace  and 
beauty  to  the  homely  old  town  of  Charlemont,  lying  just 
beneath  the  Castle,  on  its  opposite  banks,  the  Irish  general  and 
the  Norman  knight  leaning  over  the  parapet,  beguiled  the  hour 
with  this  so  pleasant  converse.  The  deep  silence  of  the  hour 
was  nowise  broken  by  the  measured  tramp  of  the  sentries  on 
the  ramparts,  and  no  sound  was  heard  from  the  town  beneath 
save  that  of 

“ The  watch-dog’s  voice  that  bay’d  the  list’ning  moon.” 

Many  a tale  of  horror  young  Netterville  had  told  relating  to  the 
savage  butcheries  of  the  miscreant  Coote,  and  O’Neill  listened 
with  a sickening  heart,  not  always  able  to  repress  the  natural 
expression  of  indignation  and  disgust,  although  habitually 
guarded  in  all  his  words  and  actions. 

“For  all  Sir  Phelim’s  poor  opinion  of  us,  Anglo-Irish,”  said 
Netterville,  “and  though  he  have  no  better  name  for  us  than 
‘ mongrel  hounds,’  we  have,  putting  one  thing  with  another,  done 
our  fair  share  of  the  work  since  the  day  of  our  covenant  with 
Roger  O’Moore  and  the  other  Irish  on  the  hill  of  Crofty.” 

“ Who  doubts  it,  my  friend  I”  said  O’Neill  frankly,  and  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  knight’s  arm ; “ no,  not  even  my  kinsman, 
Phelim,  though  he  do  snarl  and  snap  at  times.  He  is  at  heart 
too  much  devoted  to  the  cause  not  to  feel  the  full  value  of  our 
indebtedness  to  our  gallant  brethren  of  the  Pale  !” 

“ However  that  be,”  replied  Netterville,  “ we  ourselves  know 
full  well  that  we  have  had  the  brunt  to  bear  in  many  a trying 
hour  of  peril,  when  Sir  Phelim  and  his  Northmen  were  far  away, 

* Sir  Andrew  Aylmer,  who  did  good  service  to  the  Catholic  cause 
during  these  long  wars,  was  the  brother-in-law  of  the  Earl  of  Ormond, 
having  married  one  of  Sis  sisters,  as  Lord  Muskerry  did  another.  The 
other  two  were  consecrated  to  God  in  holy  religion. 


86 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


little  thinking  of  our  need.  Spanish  bred  as  you  are,  general, 
you  must  have  heard  of  Lough  Ree  of  the  Shannon.” 

“ Surely  yes,  Sir  John,  I know  it  well  by  name.” 

“ Well,  the  islands  in  the  lake,  and  the  Kilkenny*  shore  ad- 
joining, were,  and  are  still,  subject  to  the  powerful  house  of  Dillon, 
who  have  dotted  the  land  with  religious  institutions  of  various 
kinds  wheresover  their  sway  extended.  Not  to  speak  of  the 
noble  Abbey  on  Hare-Island,  around  whose  now  mouldering 
walls  the  departed  Dillons  sleep  in  peace,  there  is,  or  was,  till 
lately,  on  Saint’s  or  Nun’s  Island,  almost  within  hail  of  the  other, 
a Convent  of  Poor  Clares  also  founded  and  protected  by  the  same 
noble  family.  It  was  a house  of  refuge  to  all  the  poor  and  dis- 
tressed for  miles  around  on  mainland  and  island,  and  all  men 
deemed  it  safe  from  the  incursions  of  any  of  the  contending 
parties.  So  little  danger  was  apprehended,  indeed,  that  even 
the  hereditary  protectors  of  the  house  thought  it  nowise  neces- 
sary to  burden  or  disturb  the  good  Sisters  by  placing  a garrison 
iu  or  near  the  convent,  and  lulled  in  false  security  the  saintly 
daughters  of  St.  Clare  pursued  their  works  of  mercy,  and  dreamed 
away  their  meditative  hours  in  the  still  seclusion  of  their  insular 
dwelling.  Alas ! that  so  blissful  a calm  should  be  so  rudely 
broken  ! The  good  religious  were  in  their  chapel  chanting  the 
Vesper  service  when  a party  of  English  soldiers  from  the  garrison 
of  BallinaclofFy,  on  the  adjoining  shore,  burst  into  the  Church, 
and — oh,  my  God ! shut  out  from  mine  eyes  the  scene  that  fol- 
lowed,” and  starting  from  his  half- recumbent  posture  the  young 
nobleman  began  to  pace  the  rampart  to  and  fro  in  a fit  of  un- 
conquerable emotion.  * 

“ What !”  said  Owen  O’Neill  in  a choking  voice,  “ they  dared 
to ” 

“ Dared !”  cried  Netterville,  “ dared ! I tell  you,  General 
O’Neill,  they  dared  to  do  the  work  of  devils — sooner  could  I tear 
the  tongue  from  my  head  than  say  what  they  did , but  you  may 
guess  it  from  my  silence.  Having  glutted  their  demoniac  rage  in 
every  possible  way,  the  wretches  set  fire  to  the  convent  and 

* This  place  is  situated  in  the  county  of  Westmeath,  and  on  the 
eastern  borders  of  Lough  Ree. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


87 


marched  away,  little  thinking  what  was  to  follow.  Oh,  virgins 
of  the  Lord  ! they  deemed  ye  unprotected,  and  as  having  none 
to  avenge  your  wrongs ” 

A deep  groan  from  Owen  Roe  made  Netterville  look  towards 
him.  His  head  had  sunk  between  his  hands,  and  his  whole 
frame  trembled  with  suppressed  emotion,  yet  he  spoke  no  word, 
perchance  could  not  speak.  Before  the  knight  could  utter  ano- 
ther word,  a rough  voice  spoke  out  almost  at  his  elbow,  and  Sir 
Phelim  stepped  forth  from  the  shade  of  a buttress  into  the  clear 
moonlight. 

“ It  is  a piteous  tale,  Sir  John,”  he  said  with  the  vehemence 
which  belonged  to  his  character;  “would  to  God  I had  been 
there  with  a score  or  so  of  my  O’Neills — methinks,  an’  we  came 
not  in  time  to  save  the  poor  nuns,  we  would  settle  accounts  with 
the  devil-begotten  Puritans ” 

“ The  account  was  settled,”  said  Netterville  coldly. 

“ How  was  that?”  asked  Owen  Roe,  roused  from  bis  painful 
reverie  as  well  by  the  abrupt  appearance  of  his  kinsman  as  by 
the  announcement  just  made. 

“By  whom?”  cried  Sir  Phelim;  “ prithee,  man,  tell  us  all 
about  it  ere  we  lose  patience.” 

“ It  were  ill  losing  what  you  never  had,”  muttered  Netter- 
ville to  himself,  and  glancing  with  a half  contemptuous  air  at 
Sir  Phelim,  he  turned  to  Owen  Roe. 

“You  will  be  glad  to  hear,  General,  that  although  your  valiant 
kinsman  here  was  not  within  a hundred  miles  or  so  of  the  bleak 
Shannon  shore  when  this  black  deed  was  done,  Bertie  and  his 
troopers*  escaped  punishment  none  the  less.  Returning  to' the 
shelter  of  their  fortress,  and  being  already  intoxicated  with  the 
mad  indulgence  of  their  brute  passions,  the  ruffians  must  needs 
quaff  potations  deep  and  long  after  their  day’s  work.  The  usual 
precautions  for  the  safety  of  the  fort  were,  of  course,  neglected 
on  that  night ; even  the  warder  on  the  walls  and  the  sentry  at 

* This  fiendish  act  was  perpetrated  by  a party  of  soldiers  from  the 
neighboring  castle  of  Bsllynacloffy,  under  the  command  of  Captain 
Bertie,  brother  to  the  Earl  of  Lindsay.  See  Brower’s  Beauties  of 
Ireland , vol.  II.,  p.  246. 


88 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  gate  were  heavy-headed  with  much  drink  and  kept  their 
posts  unlieedingly.  It  was  just  when  the  orgies  within  were 
loudest  and  highest  that  Hubert  Dillon  rushed  in  with  some 
eighty  or  a hundred  of  his  followers,  and  falling  on  the  ruffianly 
crew  of  revellers,  cut  them  down  without  mercy,  so  that,  as  chro- 
nicles tell,  hardly  a man  of  them  escaped.  ‘ The  mongrel 
whelps,’  Sir  Phelim,  proved  themselves  of  true  blood  in  that 
hour  of  retributive  justice !” 

“ Marry  they  did,”  quoth  Sir  Phelim  gleefully,  “and for  the 
sake  of  those  same  Dillons  I am  content  to  crave  your  pardon, 
Sir  John  Netterville,  for  any  unseemly  words  that  may  have 
escaped  me.  I am  a rough  spoken  man,  young  sir,  and  some- 
what hot-blooded,  but,  i’  faith,  I am  not  the  man  to  keep  malice, 
let  my  enemies  say  as  they  will.  How  now,  cousin  I” 

But  his  cousin  made  no  answer,  being  in  fact  out  of  hearing 
of  the  question,  though  still  within  sight.  He  had  followed  to  the 
other  end  of  the  rampart  a figure  which  he  had  observed  in  the 
shade  behind  Phelim’s  back,  beckoning  him  to  go  thither.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  extreme  e^d,  at  a spot  where  no  sentry  was  within 
sight  or  hearing,  the  figure  approached  for  an  instant,  and  whis- 
pered softly  but  distinctly : 

“Be  not  surprised  if  you  see  a ghost  this  night,  and  be  sure, 
sure  that  you  note  well  its  actions.  Keep  a light  burning  in  your 
chamber  all  night.  Farewell  and  God  be  with  you  !” 

The  speaker  was  no  other  than  Angus,  whose  mysterious  in- 
fluence over  Sir  Phelim  Owen  had  witnessed  with  surprise. 
Fain  would  he  have  detained  him  a moment,  but  his  faint 
and  low  “stay,  young  man  !”  was  apparently  unheard,  for  An- 
gus came  no  more.  He  had  glided  round  a projecting  angle, 
and  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Nor  did  Owen  Roe  see  him 
again  during  his  stay  at  the  Castle,  which  was  necessarily  of 
some  weeks’  duration. 

The  entertainment  provided  by  Sir  Phelim  that  evening  for 
those  whom  he  regarded  as  his  guests,  was  worthy  of  his  far- 
famed  hospitality.  A few  of  the  neighboring  chiefs,  amongst 
whom  was  O’Hanlon,  had  accepted  Sir  Phelim’s  invitation  to 
remain  for  the  night,  and  altogether  there  were  some  ten  or 
twelve  assembled  at  supper.  A jovial  party  they  were,  too,  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


well  inclined  to  do  honor  to  the  feast  before  them,  with  the  sin- 
gle exception  of  Owen  Roe  who,  at  all  times  temperate  and  even 
abstemious,  wsts  on  that  night  graver  and  more  thoughtful  even 
than  his  wont,  to  the  no  small  surprise  of  the  other  guests  who 
naturally  expected  to  see  him  somewhat  elated  by  the  flattering 
reception  given  him,  and  the  auspicious  opening  of  his  career  in 
Ireland. 

Tirlogh  O’Neill,  too,  was  more  silent  than  living  man  had  ever 
seen  him,  and  there  was  a sullen  frown  knitting  his  shaggy  brows 
that  made  one  shrink  from  looking  twice  at  him.  More  than  once 
during  the  eveuing,  he  took  occasion  to  renew  the  subject  of  Sir 
Phelim’s  superseded  command  in  a way  that  gave  infinite  alarm 
to  the  sage  O’Hanlon  and  others  of  the  guests.  But  they  little 
knew  the  stuff  that  Owen  Roe  was  made  of  when  they  deemed 
him  capable  of  being  provoked  to  anger  by  the  petulant  taunts 
or  scoffs  of  Tirlogh  O’Neill. 

“ Here’s  to  you,  Phelimy  Roe,”*  said  Tirlogh,  as  he  raised  a 
brimming  bumper  of  the  wine  of  Bordeaux ; “ you’ll  still  be 
general-in- chief  amongst  us  of  Tyr-Owen,  any  how — and  where- 
fore not,  I want  to  know,  when  King  Charles  himself,  God  bless 
him ! gave  you  full  authority  in  these  parts,  not  to  speak  of  what 
belongs  to  the  O'Neill ”• — a triumphant  glance  at  Owen  Roe  gave 
point  to  the  words,  but,  to  Tirlogh’s  great  surprise,  Owen  was 
smiling  and  composed,  Plielim  abashed  and  disconcerted.  The 
look  which  the  knight  gave  his  brother  was  expressive  of  any- 
thing but  gratitude  or  satisfaction,  and  poor  Tirlogh  cut  but  a 
sorry  figure  as  he  glanced  uneasily  from  Owen  to  Phelim  and 
from  Phelim  back  to  Owen. 

Netterville  noting  well  the  relative  effect  of  the  words,  thought 
it  a good  joke,  although  he  knew  not  for  his  part  what  it  all 
meant.  With  the  natural  buoyancy  of  youth,  he  exclaimed 
gaily  : “I  would  that  same  commission  of  Sir  Phelim’s  was  more 
extensively  published.  We,  of  the  Pale,  have  heard  much  con- 

* Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  had  also  the  soubriquet  of  Roe  or  red,  in  aliu- 
eion  to  his  florid  complexion,  bestowed  on  him  by  his  own  and  neigh- 
boring clans.  By  the  name  of  Phelimy  Roe  he  is  still  spoken  of  in 
the  north  country. 


00 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


cerning  it,  but,  I grieve  to  say,  there  be  many  so  skeptical  as  to 
doubt  its  existence.  Nay,  be  not  wroth,  Sir  Plielim,  for,  by  mine 
honor,  I mean  no  ill — I do  but  say  what  I have  many  times 
heard.” 

“ They  lie  in  their  throats,”  cried  the  knight  of  Kinard  leap- 
ing to  his  feet,  his  face  all  on  fire  with  fierce,  ungovernable  pas- 
sion ; “I  say  they  lie  in  their  throats  who  say  I have  no  commis- 
sion from  the  king.  As  well  might  they  say  there  be  no  king  to 
give  one.” 

“ Alas  ! the  day,”  said  Owen  Roe  in  a dreamy,  abstracted  tone, 
“ they  may  have  that  to  say  with  truth  ere  long,  an’  things  go 
on  as  they  do  in  England.  God  protect  the  royal  Stuart,  for 
surely  he  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  though  mayhap  he 
know  not  of  his  danger !” 

“ Let  him  look  to  it  then,”  said  O’Hanlon  gruffly ; “ he  hath  been 
playing  a double  game,  and  deserves  to  fall  between  two  stools,  as 
the  saying  is.  Double  dealing  seldom  serveth  for  much  good, 
and  that  same  King  Charles  is  full  master  of  that  art,  or  Teague 
O’Hanlon  is  no  true  man  !” 

“ I like  not  your  speech,  fair  sir,”  said  Netterville*  tartly  ; “ the 
faults  of  a sovereign,  an’  he  have  them  like  other  men,  rest  be- 
tween him  and  his  God.  We  Catholic  knights  and  nobles  might 
well  leave  abuse  of  our  liege  lord  to  the  cropped-ear’d  prigs  of 
the  Scotch  Covenant,  whose  detestation  of  ‘ the  man , Charles 
Stuart ,’  must  needs  point  him  out  as  the  friend  of  Papists.  Nay, 
never  look  so  cold  on  me,  friend  Teague,”  he  gaily  added,  see- 
ing the  chieftain’s  face  darken,  “I  have  seen  you  too  often  at 
the  head  of  your  clan  fighting  ‘for  God  and  King  Charles’ 
lightly  to  suspect  you  of  disloyal  thoughts.  Porgive  me,  O’Han- 
lon,  I did  but  jest !” 

“ More  fool  he  or  we  to  peril  life  for  so  faithless  a prince,” 
Owen  muttered  to  himself,  and  then  rising  he  craved  Sir  Plie- 
lim’s  leave  to  retire  on  the  plea  that  his  health  permitted  not 
late  vigils. 

“ But  the  commission,  General !”  cried  Netterville  as  he  shook 
hands  across  the  table  with  the  good-natured  O’Hanlon  whose 
anger  was  never  either  very  violent  or  of  long  duration,  “ let 
us  have  a sight  of  it  ere  you  go !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


91 


Sir  Phelirn  expressed  his  willingness  to  show  it,  at  the  same 
time  muttering  a curse  between  his  teeth,  but  Owen  begged  to 
be  excused,  saying  that  another  time  would  do  as  well  for  the 
gratification  of  their  common  curiosity. 

“ An’  you  be  advised  by  me,  Sir  John,”  the  general  added  as 
he  past  his  seat,  “ you  will  follow  my  example  and  retire  imme- 
diately. Proposing,  as  you  do,  to  set  out  betimes  in  the  morning, 
you  will  need  a long  night’s  rest.” 

With  a ready  perception  of  his  friend’s  motive,  the  young  Nor- 
man gracefully  declared  his  willingness,  and,  after  some  faint  ob- 
jections fropi  their  host,  both  were  shown  to  their  respective 
apartments,  Netterville  by  Tirlogh,  Owen  O’Neill  by  Sir  Plielim 
himself. 

It  was  the  best  sleeping-room  in  the  Castle  that  in  which  Owen 
was  lodged,  and  albeit  that  curiosity  had  but  a very  small  share 
in  his  composition,  he  certainly  did  make  a brief  inspection  of 
the  spacious  chamber  with  its  old-fashioned  furniture,  even  be- 
fore he  knelt  to  perform  his  nightly  devotions.  The  room  was 
curiously  wainscotted  with  Irish  oak,  black  and  polished  as 
ebony;  the  large  mirror,  surmounting  an  antique  toilet-table, 
was  framed  in  the  same,  and  the  narrow,  high-backed  chairs 
and  the  four-posted  bed  with  its  canopy  of  rich  crimson  velvet, 
all  were  in  perfect  keeping  one  with  the  other,  so  that  the  cham- 
ber, rich  and  tasteful  as  it  was,  had  a gloomy  and  somewhat 
ghostly  look.  Still  the  bed  looked  so  tempting,  with  its  cool, 
fresh,  snowy  linen,  that  the  general  gave  himself  little  trouble 
about  the  sombre  character  of  the  place,  and,  leaving  the  lamp 
burning  on  the  table,,  according  to  the  mysterious  instructions 
of  the  young  Eapparee,  he  lost  no  time  in  seeking  repose. 
Much  he  wondered  at  the  singular  warning  given  him  by  Angus, 
although  so  far  was  he  from  attaching  any  importance  to  it  that 
he  laughed  at  the  bare  idea  of  a ghostly  visitation. 

He  had  been  some  hours  asleep,  and  the  night  was  already 
far  spent,  when  his  light  slumbers  were  broken  by  the  door 
creaking  on  its  rusty  hinges,  and  starting  up  on  his  elbow,  he 
saw  crossing  the  floor  a tail  figure  in  a short  white  garment 
barely  reaching  below  the  knee.  The  lower  limbs  were  bare, 
and  brawny  limbs  they  were,  to  be  sure ; no  wonder  that  they 


92  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  * 

should,  gentle  reader,  for  the  sinewy  limbs  and  the  thick  head 
of  reddish,  curling  hair  and  the  massive  features  were  those  of 
the  real,  substantial  Phelimy  Roe,  the  knight  of  Kinard  himself, 
walking  in  his  sleep,  and  no  spirit,  as  Owen  saw  at  a glance, 
and  seeing,  he  smiled. 

The  eyes  of  the  figure  were  wide  open,  and,  at  first  sight, 
would  appear  fixed  on  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room,  whither 
the  naked  feet  were  turning  their  steps.  But  no,  there  was  no 
consciousness,  all  the  motions  were  mechanical. 

Owen,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  watched  the  figure  with 
curious  eyes.  Not  that  he  remembered  Angus’s  injunction  at 
the  moment,  but  from  the  natural  impulse  of  curiosity.  Walk- 
ing slowly  to  that  corner  .of  the  room  which  was  concealed  from 
Owen’s  view  by  the  foot-hangings  of  the  bed,  Sir  Phelim  ap- 
proached a tall,  old-fashioned  escrutoire  which  had  hitherto 
escaped  the  general’s  notice.  The  latter,  leaning  from  his  bed, 
now  eagerly  watched  the  motions  of  the  somnambulist,  who, 
having  slowly  raised  the  lid  of  the  antique  desk,  began  groping 
and  fumbling  through  the  secret  drawers  and  shelves  within, 
muttering  drearily  to  himself  as  he  did  so,  and  shaking  his  head 
as  one  grievously  disappointed. 

“Gone!  gone!”  he  said  in  a voice  loud  enough  for  Owen  to 
hear,  “ gone  to  the  grave  and  the  worms,  mayhap,  with  old 
Toby  Caulfield.  I would  I had  it  to  convince  these  prying 
churls — they  say  I forged  it,  but  they  lie, — they  lie — I forged 
it  not — thou  canst  bear  me  witness,  old  lord,  an’  thy  spirit  be 
anywhere  here — but  stay — let  me  whisper — tell  not  that  hypo- 
critical, long-faced  kinsman  of  mine — tell  him  not  the  cun- 
ning device  whereby  I tricked  the  chiefs  and  people  into  belief. 
Ay ! it  was  a pretty  conceit — thou  sayest  well — an’  what  if  I 
did  borrow  that  old  deed  of  thine,  or  rather  the  seal,  for  mine 
own  use — the  end  was  a good  one,  and  thou,  stern  old  royalist 
as  thou  ever  Avert,  could  not  anywise  object  to  it,  seeing  that 
we  be  the  king’s  liege  subjects,  deny  it  who  may ! — go  to,  old 
man,  name  not  the  murder  to  me — of  that  I am  guiltless,  any- 
how,— as  God  liveth  I am.  For  the  other,  it  is  done,  and  cannot 
be  undone— only  keep  it  from  Owen  Roe — the  secret  of  this 
unlucky  commission,  and  all  will  go  well — it  were  a thick  veil 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


93 


surely  on  the  face  of  the  Green  Lady,  the  disgrace  which  that 
disclosure  would  bring  on  our  house.  The  hoy  is  right — it  must 
be  avoided — come  what  may  !” 

So  saying,  he  closed  the  desk  with  a heavy  sigh  or  rather 
groan,  and  crossing  the  floor  without  turning  to  the  right  hand 
or  the  left,  glided  from  the  room  as  noiselessly  as  a spirit. 

What  Owen  learned  from  all  this  we  can  but  guess,  for  his 
thoughts  on  the  subject  he  kept  to  himself  then  and  ever  after. 


94 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

“ Love  will  find  its  way 
Thro’  paths  where  wolves  would  fear  to  prey." 

Byron’s  G-iaou? 


“ How  little  do  they  see  what  is,  who  give 
Their  hasty  judgments  upon  that  which  seems.” 

Southey. 

Nearly  the  same  July  sun  that  gilded  the  green  pennon  of 
Owen  Roe  when  its  folds  first  rustled  in  the  sea-breeze  over  the 
keep  of  Doe  Castle,  saw  the  long-imprisoned  chieftains  of  Fer- 
managh and  Uriel  brought  forth  from  the  cells  where  their  eyes 
had  almost  forgotten  how  to  look  and  their  limbs  how  to  walk. 
Silently,  and,  as  it  were,  stealthily,  their  prison-doors  were 
opened,  and  guarded  on  either  side  by  a soldier,  each  was  led 
forth  bound  and  manacled.  Again,  after  the  lapse  of  nine 
weary  months,  tha  friends  looked  upon  each  other,  and  oh ! the 
thousand,  thousand  thoughts  to  which  that  glance  gave  utter- 
ance. It  was  but  for  a moment,  however,  that  this  mute  inter- 
change of  feeling  lasted,  for  a troop  of  cavalry  and  a whole  bat- 
talion of  infantry  were  in  waiting  to  receive  the  prisoners  from 
the  Constable  of  the  Castle,  whose  duty  it  was  to  give  them  up. 

“ By  my  faith,”  said  McMahon  with  a melancholy  smile  as  he 
noted  the  imposing  array,  “ by  my  faith,  Connor,  we  be  no  such 
pitiful  wights  after  all.  This  guard  of  honor  surely  befitteth 
rather  our  birth  and  former  estate  than  the  beggarly  rags  of  our 
present  livery.  What  think  you,  brother  in  misfortune  'l  Doth 
it  not  seem  over  much  respect  for  two  ragged  jail-birds  like  our- 
selves V’  And  casting  his  eyes  down  over  the  tattered  remains 
of  his  once  gay  costume,  he  laughed  lightly  and  scornfully. 
Maguire  acknowledged  the  witticism  of  his  friend  by  a faint  smile 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


95 


and  an  admonitory  gesture,  but  word  spoke  be  none.  His  more 
pliant,  and  (it  might  be)  more  susceptible  mind,  bad  lost  its 
former  spring  and  assumed  the  gloomy  cast  of  surrounding  ob- 
jects ; dull  and  spiritless,  and,  to  all  appearance,  dead  to  hope 
was  the  once  haughty  chieftain  of  Fermanagh,  his  fine  counten- 
ance pale,  and  wan,  and  haggard,  his  long  brown  hair. matted 
and  dishevelled.  It  were  hard,  indeed,  to  recognize  in  him  the 
gay,  good-humored,  and  ever-attractive  Lord  Maguire  of  our 
earlier  acquaintance,  the  proud  and  sensitive,  yet  warm-hearted. 
Oh  ! it  was  a sad  sight  to  look  upon  that  wreck  of  manly  beauty 
an  d high  estate,  and  to  think  of  the  cause  for  which  he  suffered, 
the  cause  of  eternal  truth  and  justice.  McMahon,  more  robust 
in  body  and  more  stubborn  in  mind,  had  also  a mercurial  light- 
ness of  heart  which  no  amount  of  suffering  could  altogether 
subdue,  and  with  these  peculiar  characteristics  he  had  borne  up 
like  a giant  under  the  pressure  of  his  hard  lot.  True,  his  cheek 
had  lost  its  roundness,  and  with  it  the  fresh  color  borrowed  from 
the  “ breezy  heath”  of  his  native  Uriel ; neither  had  his  clear 
blue  eye  the  same  mirthful  twinkle  as  in  former  days,  though  its 
light  was  still  unquenched,  and  its  bold,  free  look  ever  the  same. 
The  garments  of  both  were,  as  poor  McMahon’s  jest  indicated, 
sadly  the  worse  for  wear,  being  identically  the  same  in  which 
they  were  captured  so  many  months  before. 

Sir  Francis  Willoughby,  Governor  of  the  Castle,  quickly  made 
his  appearance  on  a balcony,  and  gave  the  stern  order  to 
“ march !” 

“ March  !”  repeated  McMahon,  “ where  to,  I pray  you,  good 
sir  1 That  question  have  we  asked  full  often  since  the  order 
reached  us,  but  as  yet  no  man  hath  made  us  the  wiser.” 

“ It  boots  ye  little  to  know,”  replied  the  stern  governor,  “ the 
knowledge  may  come  over  soon.  Captain  Hardy,  the  hour  hath 
struck — move  on,  sir !” 

“ Not  yet,  Sir  Francis,  an’  it  please  you,”  said  a voice  un- 
heard before ; it  was  that  of  one  of  Coote’s  troopers,  who,  dash- 
ing into  the  court-yard  at  full  speed,  delivered  a message  from 
Sir  William  Parsons,  then  on  a visit  at  Blackrock,  to  the  effect 
that  the  prisoners  were  to  be  remanded  to  their  cells  for  half 
an  hour’s  space,  or  an  hour,  if  needful. 


96 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ For  what  purpose,  knowest  thou  V'  demanded  Willoughby. 

“ It  hath  pleased  the  Lord  Justice  to  impart  so  much  know- 
ledge unto  me,”  the  young  soldier  replied,  touching  his  morion 
at  the  same  time  in  military  style ; “ rumors  have  reached  him 
that  the  Lord  Maguire  here  present  hath  of  late  manifested 
more  loyal  sentiments,  and,  desirous  ot  encouraging  any  such 
laudable  dispositions  on  the  part  of  these  pestilent  rebels,  he,  of 
his  great  wisdom  and  clemency,  sendeth  hither  the  worshipful 
and  godly  gentleman,  Master  Osee  Judkins,  with  intent  to  learn 
by  private  converse,  from  either  or  both  prisoners,  in  what  way 
they  stand  affected  now  towards  the  righteous  cause.” 

At  this  McMahon  laughed  outright,  and  Maguire  was  just  on 
the  point  of  uttering  an  indignant  denial  of  any  such  change  as 
that  ascribed  to  him,  when  a voice,  barely  audible  to  himself, 
whispered  at  his  side  in  Irish : “ Let  them  think  so — say  no- 
thing”— and  passing  him  like  a shadow  swept  the  dark-robed, 
Dutch-built  figure  of  Master  Osee  Judkins,  for  whom  the  sol- 
diers made  way  right  and  left,  till,  arrived  opposite  the  balcony, 
he  posted  himself  in  front  of  the  Governor,  and  thus  delivered 
himself : 

“ May  it  please  you,  Francis  Willoughby,  to  send  back  these 
recusants  to  their  respective  places  for  one  hour,  or  less,  as  the 
case  may  be,  until  such  time  as  I have  ascertained  to  the  satis- 
faction of  that  righteous  ruler,  William  Parsons,  what  change 
may  have  taken  place  in  their  traitbfous  and  bloody  dispositions. 
It  hath  pleased  the  Lord  to  afflict  him  this  morning  with  a 
grievous  flux,  by  reason  of  which  he  may  not  venture  abroad.” 
Hearing  this  McMahon  laughed  heartily:  “Pray  Heaven,” 
said  he,  “ all  the  evil  humors  of  the  man  may  find  vent  in  that 
same  flux !” 

A stern  rebuke  from  Judkins  only  made  the  reckless  Ulster- 
man laugh  the  more,  and  he  was  about  to  say  something  not 
very  complimentary  to  any  concerned,  when  the  harsh,  loud 
voice  of  Willoughby  arrested  his  attention : 

“ Remand  the  prisoners  for  an  hour — -give  Master  Judkins 
access  to  them  separately  in  their  cells.  Captain  Hardy  will 
send  a messenger  to  delay  the  ship  for  the  time  specified.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


97 


“ Ship !”  repeated  McMahon ; “ are  you  sending  us,  then,  be- 
yond seas — mayhap  it  be  to  England !” 

“ I see  you  are  as  good  at  guessing  as  at  portrait-painting, 
Master  Irishman,”  said  Hardy  advancing,  “but  no  more  talk, 
an’  you  are  a wise  mail, — 'Soldiers,  take  them  in,  but  remain 
here  under  arms !” 

If  any  one  looked  around  at  that  moment  for  the  trooper  who 
had  brought  Sir  William’s  message,  it  would  have  seemed  as 
though  he  vanished  into  thin  air,  although  the  presence  of  his 
horse  fastened  to  a post  at  the  rear  of  a sentry-box  might,  had 
he  been  observed,  have  suggested  the  idea  that  the  rider  must 
be  still  about  the  premises. 

Little  recked  the  bold  trooper  though  his  horse  were  seen,  for 
in  attendance  on  Master  -Juikins  he- had  passed  on  to  the  inte- 
rior of  the  Castle,  on  and  on,  even  to  the  cells  wherein  the 
* friends  were  again  lodged,  heavily  ironed  as  they  were. 

What  passed  between  Master  Judkins  and  Maguire  is  not 
ours  to  tell,  but  the  success  of  the  embassy  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact  that  after  a conference  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  carried  on  in  so  low  a tone  that  the  trooper  listening 
without  could  not  catch  a word  of  it,  Maguire  all  at  once  burst 
forth  into  what  appeared  a perfect  frenzy  of  indignation,  and 
the  worshipful  and  godly  Osee  Judkins  called  loudly  for  help. 
The  turnkey,  also  waiting  without,  hastened  to  open  the  door, 
none  too  soon,  it  appeared,  for  the  bodily  safety  of  Sir  William’s 
ambassador,  threatened  with  a blow  from  the  chained  hands  of 
Maguire  which  might,  as  he  justly  feared,  have  sent  him  to  tho 
shades  below. 

“Secure  this  madman,”  said  Judkins  in  breathless  trepida- 
tion ; “ he  will  hear  nothing  from  me— nothing,  nothing — the 
other  may  be  more  reasonable — him  will  I try  as  in  duty  bound, 
— but,  alas !” — and  he  sighed  heavily — “ I much  fear  the  result 
will  be  the  same — perverse  and  unregenerate  are  they  all — all — 
alack ! alack ! for  the  sinful  bonds  that  hold  them  fast  in  the 
evil  way !” 

“ Out,  out  upon  you,  canting  knave !’’  cried  the  wrathful 
chieftain  ; “ ap’  I had  you  within  reach  of  my  arm,  your  prating 
were  cut  short,  I tell  you ! — ay,  marry,  go  to  McMahon,  with 
15 


98 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


your  pious  twaddle, — he  will  teach  you  to  go  errands  for  Par- 
sons— and  to  us ! — off  with  you !” 

“I  pray  you,  good  fellow,”  quoth  the  agitated  Judkins,  “show 
me  with  speed  to  the  lodging  of  the  other — an’  he  he  not  more 
tractable  than  this  individual,  my  mission  will  profit  William 
Parsons  but  little.  0 Rome!  Rome!  Babylon  the  new!  how 
fearful  are  the  spells  of  thy  foul  magic !” 

And  groaning  piteously  the  good  man  betook  himself  to  the 
cell  occupied  by  McMahon  at  no  great  distance,  the  turnkey 
walking  before.  By  some  curious  oversight  that  functionary 
forgot  to  turn  the  key  on  Maguire,  or  perchance  he  deemed  the 
presence  of  the  fierce-looking  soldier  better  than  bolt  or  bar. 
It  so  happened  that  Coote’s  terrible  troopers  were  at  that  parti- 
cular time  a portion  of  the  city  garrison,  so  that  they  were  often 
on  guard  about  the  Castle,  and  might,  therefore,  be  almost  indi- 
vidually known  to  the  officials.  However  it  was,  the  young  sol- 
dier was  left  alone  at  the  door  of  Maguire’s  cell,  and,  to  that 
nobleman’s  great  surprise,  the  footsteps  of  the  others  had  hardly 
died  away  when  he  addressed  him  in  a low,  tremulous  voice, 
drawing  his  sword  at  the  same  time  so  as  to  deceive  prying 
eyes : 

“ Connor  Maguire,  they  are  taking  you  to  England,  fearing 
a rescue.” 

“ Ha,  then,  an’  such  be  their  fear,”  said  the  chieftain,  a flush 
of  joy  suffusing  his  pale  face,  “ it  denotes  strength  and  success 
on  our  part— accept  my  thanks,  oh  Heaven  !” 

Much  affected  by  this  utter  forgetfulness  of  self,  the  soldier's 
voice  trembled  still  more  when  he  spoke  again:  “But  you  ask 
not  who  I am  that  come  to  you  in  friendship  under  such  guise 
as  this,”  pointing  to  the  ball-coots*  curiously  emblazoned  on  his 
scarlet  doublet.  “ Ay,  look  well  at  me — look  into  mine  eyes — is 
their  language  that  of  a foe!” 

Maguire  started  and  drew  back  a pace:  “What — the  lady 
Emndeline  here,  and  in  such  wise  bedight !” 

“ Heed  not  the  fashion  of  my  garments,  Connor  Maguire,  but 
hearken  to  the  words  which  I have  perilled  all  to  speak.  Hast 

* The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Coote  family. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


99 


heard  from  the  gentleman  just  gone  how  matters  stand  with  the 
Confederates,  which  name  I hear  hath  been  assumed  by  those  of 
your  party  V ’ 

“ Little  or  nothing  did  that  gentleman  tell  me  of  what  I so 
much  desire  to  know — other  business  brought  him  here.” 

“ Ay,  marry,  I guessed  as  much,”  said  the  disguised  fair  one 
with  a strange  smile ; “ well,  then,  hear  me  : the  Catholics  are 
everywhere  up  in  arms,  save  only  in  Galway,  where  Lord  Clan- 
rickarde  had  power  to  hold  them  to  their  good  behavior.” 

“ God  confound  him  !”  Maguire  exclaimed  through  his  closed 
teeth. 

“ For  shame,  my  lord,  to  speak  so  of  so  honorable  a noble- 
man ! — but  let  it  pass ; youf  Church  hath  at  last  declared  openly 
for  the  Confederates.” 

“ That  is  well !”  “ __ 

“ And,  as  I hear,  blessed  their  arms ” 

“ Better  still — what  more — what  of  this  Council  of  Kilkenny 
that  I have  heard  derided  and  scoffed  at  by  the  jailors  V1 

“ It  consisted  of  the  bishops  and  many  lay-lords — they 
appointed  local  and  provincial  councils  all  over  the  land,  with 
one  Chief,  or  Supreme  Council,  as  they  term  it,  to  which  all  the 
others  are  subject.  Many  other  laws  and  regulations  were  en- 
acted, but  I know  them  not,  or  could  take  time  to  tell  them  an* 
I did.  One  thing  I know : Lord  Mountgarret  is  President  of  the 

Supreme  Council ” 

“ Humph !” 

“And  a general  assembly  of  the  estates — so  the  phrase  goes — 

is  to  meet  again  in  October  in  the  same  city ” 

“ It  is  very  well ! The  Normans  of  the  Pale  are  heartily  into 
the  matter  1” 

“ Heartily ! — good  sooth  they  are,  as  I could  testify,  did  time 
permit — suffice  it  to  say,  they  are,  as  it  would  seem,  almost  to  a 
man,  head  and  ears  implicated  in  the  rebellion — between  them 
and  the  old  Irish  much  hath  been  done  for  the  cause  which  you 
affect — the  greater  part  of  Munster  is  in  their  hands,  so,  too, 

with  Connaught ” 

“ But  what  of  the  North  V ' 

“ Rebellion  begins  to  raise  its  head  again ’ 


100 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Ay,  I was  duly  informed  here,”  said  Maguire  "bitterly,  “ that 
the  great  Ulster  army  was  broken  up  and  the  chiefs  hiding  in 
holes  and  corners — what  hath  wrought  such  a change  V’ 

“ The  arrival  of  a certain  Colonel  O’Neill  from  Flanders  or 
somewhere  there — at  least  so  they  say  here  in  Dublin  !” 

“ What!  Owen  Roe?”  cried  Maguire  with  joyful  eagerness. 

“ I believe  they  call  him  so.” 

“ Now,  God  be  praised  for  that  news,”  ejaculated  the  chieftain 
fervently — and  he  raised  his  tearful  eyes  to  heaven.  “ Phelim, 
I know,  would  do  his  best,”  he  murmured  to  himself,  “ but  he 
was  not — is  not  the  man  to  marshal  a host  and  keep  men  to- 
gether,”— then  raising  his  voice  he  said,  “ accept  my  thanks, 
fair  Emmeline !” 

“ I admire  your  patriotism,”  said  the  lady  with  a faint  blush 
on  her  delicate  cheek ; “ and  your  thanks  are  valued  as  they 
ought,  but  in  this  last  sad  -hour — moment  I should  say — when 
discovery  may  be  my  death,  and  yours  may  be  nearer  than  you 
think — are  we  to  part  as  ever  before  V 

“ Emmeline,”  said  the  chieftain  with  a quivering  lip  and  a 
downcast  eye,  “ daughter  of  our  enemy  ! what  wouldst  thou  have 
me  say  ?” 

“ Alas  ! Connor,  that  parent  of  mine  who  was  thine  enemy  is 
beneath  the  sod,  the  other  is  thy  friend,  and  the  enemy  of  no 
living  creature.” 

“ Your  father  dead ! — Sir  Charles  Coote  dead ! How  1 — when  V* 

“ I may  not,  cannot  tell  thee  now — moments  are  too  precious 
— say  only,  ere  we  part,  most  likely,  for  ever,  dost  thou  still  re- 
gard Emmeline  Coote  in  no  other  light  than  as  the  daughter  of 
a foeman  ?” 

Maguire  bit  his  lip  till  it  was  colorless  as  his  cheek,  but  no 
word  of  answer  came. 

“ Say  !”  resumed  the  lady  with  that  startling  vehemence  which 
now  and  then  marked  her  manner,  “ say,  Connor  Maguire,  am  I 
still  an  enemy? — I who,  with  intent  to  serve  thee,  have  laid 
aside  full  many  and  many  a time  the  garments  of  my  maiden- 
hood and  donned  such  unwomanly  vesture  as  to  make  my  cheek 
burn  with  shame— I who  have  braved  danger,  ay ! and  death, 
even  on  the  field  where  death  was  rifest,  watching  and  waiting 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


101 


for  some  turn  of  affairs  favorable  to  your  chance  of  escape — I 
who  have  closed  mine  ears  to  the  voice  of  love  and  looked  coldly 
on  the  best  and  bravest  when  they  bent  before  me — I who  am 
here — here — within  these  fated  walls  to  look  once  more  upon 
your  face  and  win  a word  of  kindness  from  your  lips  before  they 
take  you  hence ” 

“But  whither  do  they  take  us,  Emmeline  1 — tell  me  that,  I 
implore  thee !” 

“ Whither  but  to  England,  to  London,  most  like  to  the  Tower 
to  await  a trial.’* 

“ It  is  well,”  said  the  chief,  drawing  himself  up  proudly,  “it 
is  well  they  deem  us  of  so  great  importance,  but  as  for  trying  us 
in  England,  that  they  may  not,  dare  not  do — such  trial  were 
mockery !” 

“ I tell  thee,  Connor,  they  will  do  and  dare  all  things — law  is 
as  nought  in  their  hands,  for  their  will  is  the  law  in  this  land, 
this  party  of  the  Parliament — but  answer  my  question  while 
time  permits — already  in  the  distance  I hear  heavy  footsteps — an’ 
they  have  time  to  return  from  Blackrock,  whither,  I know,  they 
have  sent,  we  are  all  lost.  Is  thy  heart  still  hardened  towards 
her  who  hath  watched  at  the  door  of  this  thy  dungeon/  ay  ! the 
long  night  through,  sharing  thine  anguish  though  all  unknown  to 
thee — dost  thou  still  regard  her  as  an  enemy,  the  daughter  of  a 
hated  race,  who  hath  never  regarded  thee  but  as  the  preserver 
of  her  life  V’ 

It  seemed  as  though  a sudden  pang  here  seized  upon  the  lady’s 
heart  for  all  at  once  she  stopped  and  turned  ghastly  pale.  Ma- 
guire saw  the  change  with  alarm — he  knew  not  that  it  was  the 
sting  of  conscience  which  quivered  in  her  heart,  as  hateful  mem- 
ory recalled  the  night  of  his  arrest  and  the  part  which  the  un- 
bridled spirit  of  revenge  had  made  her  play.  But  the  generous 
heart  of  Maguire  was  never  prone  to  suspicion,  and  her  ominous 
threat  on  that  fatal  night,  and  the  scathing  mockery  of  her 
greeting:  subsequent  to  his  capture  were  at  that  moment  forgot- 
ten— her  love,  wild,  passionate,  and  unquenchable,  was  alone 
remembered. 

For  a moment  he  stood  irresolute  in  accordance  with  the  usual 
indecision  of  his  character,  but  a glance  at  the  beautiful  eyes  so 


102 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


intently  fixed  upon  him,  and  the  trembling,, eagerness  expressed 
in  every  perfect  feature  of  tho  face  before  him,  at  once  unsealed 
bis  lips  and  sent  a warm  glow  to  bis  sunken  cheek. 

“Emmeline,”  said  he,  “ this  is  neither  the  hour  nor  the  place 
to  make  professions  which  in  my  case  were  but  empty  sounds. 
This  only  will  I say” — he  paused — glanced  again  at  the  bright- 
ening orbs  to  whose  witchery  he  had  never  been  insensible,  and 
went  on  in  quick,  hurried  accents  : “ This  only  will  I say — I am 
not — nor  ever  was — ungrateful,  and  were  I still  Chieftain  of  Fer- 
managh— ruling  as  a prince  the  broad  domains  of  my  fathers, 
instead  of  a poor,  despised,  ragged  captive  far  from  home  and 
friends — then  should  the  Lady  Emmeline  hear  from  me,  what 
now  were  shame  to  speak — go,  too  lovely  and  too  loving  ! — fair- 
est of  Saxon  maidens ! go — leave  me — forget  Maguire,  and  be 
happy !” 

“ Oh  Heaven ! I thank  thee,”  murmured  the  lady  with  pas- 
sionate fervor,  and  the  tears,  so  long  pent-up,  streamed  unheeded 
down  her  peachy  cheeks ; “for  this  moment  have  I lived,  and 
even  death  were  welcome  now,  could  we  but  die  together.  But 
no — he  shall  be  saved,  come  what  may.  Connor  Maguire,  this 
moment  repays  me  for  all— all  I have  suffered,  all  I have  done. 
But  enough  hath  been  said.  We  must  act  now.  Here,  divest 
thyself  quickly  of  those  garments  and  don  these  !” — and  tearing 
off  her  doublet  and  trunk  hose  she  flung  them  into  the  cell, 
without  changing  her  own  costume  in  aught,  for  duplicates  of 
the  articles  aforesaid  appeared  underneath.  “ Leave  your  tat- 
tered vesture  in  the  cell,”  whispered  Emmeline,  “and  come 
forth  as  quick  as  may  be !”  So  saying  she  retired  some  paces 
from  the  door,  and  drawing  her  long  sabre  anew,  took  to  pacing 
to  and  fro  in  the  passage  as  though  on  guard. 

“ Emmeline,”  whispered  the  chief,  “ what  is  thy  purpose  1 — 
explain,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  do  thy  bidding  !” 

“ I would  save  thee — or  die  with  thee — haste — haste  !” 

“ But  how  1 What  wouldst  thou  do  V* 

“ Clothe  myself  in  thy  cast-off  garments  and  remain  in  thy 
place !” 

“ And  I r 

“Will  escape  as  Coote’s  trooper  an’  thou  delay  not  too  long  l" 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


103 


“ Never,  never,”  cried  the  generous  chieftain,  with  the  air  of 
one  not  to  he  moved  from  his  purpose;  “never,  and  leave  thee 
for  a victim.  Begone,  Emmeline,  this  moment  begone — for  me 
there  is  no  hope — but  thou — oh,  fly  ! fly  ! an’  thou  lovest  me  !” 

“ It  is  too  late — oh,  Connor ! Connor  !” 

“Hast  said  thy  say  to  the  prisoner,  young  sir  7”  demanded 
the  deep,  authoritative  voice  of  the  turnkey,  who  at  that  moment 
appeared  with  the  respectable  Judkins,  the  latter  crest-fallen 
and  silent,  doubtless  the  effect  of  his  double  disappointment ; 
“ hast  said  thy  say,  for  the  hour  is  all  but  expired,  and  both 
must  be  given  up  on  the  instant ” 

With  a heavy  sigh  and  a despairing  look  at  the  object  of  her 
romantic  passion,  ere  the  door  was  closed  upon  him,  the  fair 
Emmeline  sheathed  her  sword,  and  followed  the  official.  Master 
Osee  Judkins  brought  up  the  rear,  muttering  to  himself  words 
that  to  a practised  ear  would  have  sounded  strangely  like  Latin, 
with  this  interpretation : 

“ Give  them  help,  0 Lord,  from  Thy  holy  place,  and  from  Sion 
protect  them !” 

Reaching  the  courtyard,  and  questioned  by  Willoughby  him- 
self as  to  the  success  of  his  mission,  the  grave  gentleman  shook 
his  head  sadly,  observing  that  the  great  clemency  of  his  patron, 
William  Parsons,  was,  in  the  case  of  these  recreants,  thrown  away 
— literally  pearls  thrown  before  swine,  “ the  which,  thou  know- 
est,  Francis,  is  set  down  as  folly  in  the  Book  of  books.” 

But  Willoughby  was  in  no  mood  to  descant  on  Scriptural 
philosophy,  and  he  roughly  admonished  the  “reverend  seignor” 
to  betake  him  whence  he  came,  without  more  ado. 

“ I’ll  warrant  me  thou  art  some  newly-arrived  place-hunter 
from  beyond  the  Channel,”  said  he,  “ arraying  thyself  in  the 
solemn  garb  of  the  covenant  the  better  to  hunt  down  a good 
fat  quarry  here  amongst  the  Irishry — go  to,  old  meddler, — or 
rather,  look  to  him,  soldiers,  till,  my  messenger  return.  -Mean- 
while, bring  forth  the  prisoners  once  more,  waiting  the  Lord 
Justice’s  will  in  their  regard  !” 

Great  was  the  consternation  of  all  present  when  the  messenger 
returning  stated  that  Sir  William  Parsons  had  entered  into  no 
negotiations  with  the  prisoners,  nor  had  sent  any  message  to 


104 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


them  whatsoever,  but  was,  on  the  contrary,  exceedingly  wroth 
that  their  shipment  had  been  delayed  on  such  pretence.  He, 
moreover,  commanded  Willoughby  to  look  closely  after  the 
audacious  impostors,  wrho  must  have  had  some  treasonable  motive 
for  such  an  act. 

Orders  were  instantly  issued  for  the  gates  to  be  closed  and 
the  traitors  secured,  but  alas  ! Judkins  was  gone — the  place  that 
knew  him  late,  knew  him  now  no  more,  and  equally  vain  was 
the  search  for  “ Coote’s  trooper,”  horse  and  man  had  both  van- 
ished, none  could  tell  how. 

In  the  utmost  trepidation,  Sir  Francis  sent  once  more  for  the 
prisoners,  doubtless  fearing  that  their  mysterious  visitors  had 
kidnapped  both  of  them,  by  means  of  some  Popish  glamoury 
or  other.  To  his  great  relief  they  were  speedily  brought,  forth, 
and  without  further  delay  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
column  and  marched  to  the  Bridge-foot,  where  the  good  ship 
Royal  Charles  waited  to  receive  them. 

“ Fare  thee  well,  Sir  Francis !”  cried  McMahon  at  parting ; 
“ I commend  to  thy  favor  the  worshipful  and  godly  Osee  Judkins 
— an’  thou  takest  a friend’s  advice,  thou  wilt  send  him  on  an 
embassy  to  the  Council  of  Kilkenny.’ 

“ Sirrah,  dost  thou  dare  to  mock  me vociferated  Willoughby. 

“ Sirrah  in  thy  teeth,  Willoughby  ! I defy  thee  !” 

These  were  the  last  words  poor  McMahon  spoke  on  Irish  soil, 
for  the  armed  minions  of  the  government  tore  him  away,  and 
when  the  final  moment  came  he  was  dragged  with  his  friend  on 
board  the  ship  ; his  heart  was  too  full  for  parting  speech. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


105 


CHAPTER  VIII.' 

“ Shout  for  the  mighty  men, 

Who  died  along  this  shore — 

Who  died  within  this  mountain’s  glen  ! 

For  never  nobler  chieftain’s  head 
Was  laid  on  valor’s  crimson  bed, 

Nor  ever  prouder  gore 
Sprang  forth  than  theirs  who  won  the  day 
Upon  thy  strand,  Thermopylae  !” 

Rev.  George  Croly. 

“ Tho’  gentle  in  her  hearing,  yet,  of  all  the  rude  crew  there, 

Not  one  would  dare  uncourteously  to  treat  that  lady  fair.” 

Owen  Roe  was  at  all  times  an  early  riser,  and  on  the  morning 
following  the  ghostly  visitation  related  in  a preceding  chapter 
he  was  out  reconnoitering  the  vicinity  of  the  Castle,  and  the 
town  of  Charlemont,  long  before  the  roseate  glow  of  the  dawn 
had  faded  from  the  eastern  sky.  With  the  practised  eye  of  a 
military  leader  he  had  noted  every  brake,  and  bush,  and  knoll  on 
either  side  of  the  river,  in  anticipation  of  some  future  occasion, 
and  having  traversed  the  narrow  limits  of  the  town,  making 
observations  as  he  went,  he  was  hurrying  along  through  the  de- 
serted little  main  street,  anxious  to  reach  the  Castle  before  the 
inhabitants  began  to  stir,  when  a blithe  voice  hailed  him  from  the 
river  side  with  a gay  “ God  save  you,  General !” 

“ And  you,  too,”  O’Neill  responded  with  right  good  will  as  the 
young  Rapparee  Captain  gained  his  side  from  the  bank  whose 
hawthorn  bushes  had  concealed  him. 

“ You’re  early  out,  I’m  proud  to  see,”  observed  Donogh  ; 
“ Commanders  like  you  and  me,”  he  added  with  an  arch  smile, 
“ should  never  let  the  sun  catch  them  a-bed.  Now  that’s  one 
thing  Sir  Phelim  had  need  to  learn  if  he  ever  means  to  do  much 


106 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


for  king  or  country.  He’s  entirely  too  fond  of  the  bed,  General, 
not  to  speak  of  something  else  that's  just  as  bad — or  worse” — 
and  he  made  a motion  of  his  hand  as  though  draining  a goblet. 

Although  convinced  in  his  heart  that  there  was  but  too  much 
truth  in  what  the  young  man  said,  still  Owen  O’Neill  was  not 
the  man  to  encourage  such  discourse  from  a mere  stranger. 

“ Excuse  me,  friend,”  he  said  in  a firm  but  very  gentle  tone ; 
“ Sir  Pbelim,  thou  knowest,  is  my  kinsman,  and  being  so,  I 
would  rather  not  hear  of  his  faults — if  faults  he  have.  This 
Castle  is  a place  of  some  strength,  but  I perceive  it  stands  in  need 
of  some  repairs.” 

“ Ay,  for  the  reasons  I told  you  of,”  replied  Donogh,  “ your 
honorable  kinsman  hath  not  done  much  to  strengthen  it.” 

“ Knowest  thou  the  exact  strength  of  the  Scotch  in  these  parts  1” 
O’Neill  asked  abruptly. 

“ It  were  hard  to  say.”  the  Rapparee  replied  in  a voice  so 
unsteady  that  the  General  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  and  was 
amazed  to  see  every  feature  of  his  comely  face  in  convulsive 
motion  ; “ pardon  me,  General,”  he  said,  or  tried  to  say,  but  fur- 
ther he  could  not  go. 

“But  why  this  agitation,  young  friend  1"  O’Neill  anxiously 
inquired. 

“ One  day  thou  shalt  know  all,”  was  the  faint  reply,  “ ay ! 
and  mayhap  before  long,  but  ask  no  farther  now.  General,”  he 
said  with  a sudden  change  of  manner  as  a new  idea  struck  him ; 
“ General,  wouldst  wish  to  see  our  lodgment  in  the  woods,  and 
make  acquaintance  with  my  comrades 

“ Methinks  I would,”  O’Neill  replied  after  a short  pause, 
“ provided  they  knew  not  of  my  coming — I would  see  them  in 
their  ordinary  life.” 

“ Thou  shalt  see  them,  then.” 

“ What,  now  1 Is  your  encampment,  then,  so  near  1 

“ I said  not  now,"  said  Donogh  with  recovered  composure ; 
“night  will  best  show  you  what  manner  of  men  they  be  who 
follow  my  banner” — again  he  smiled — “ so  an’  it  pleaseth  thee, 
noble  sir,  to  come  with  me  for  some  hours  when  the  shades  of  night 
cover  the  earth,  I will  show  thee  what  knight  or  noble  never 
saw  save  those  of  our  own  blood !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


107 


“ Thanks,  good  friend,”  said  the  General ; “ I will  gladly  take 
thee  at  thy  word.  We  part  here,  I think,  or  art  bound  like 
myself  for  the  Castle  V* 

“ Truly  yes,”  laughed  the  Rapparee ; “ I mean  to  break  my 
fast  at  Sir  Phelim’s  expense — this  musket  of  mine” — pointing  to 
the  one  which  hung  over  his  shoulder — “ hath  brought  down 
nothing  this  morning  yet.  But,  tell  me,  General,  and  excuse 
me,  an’  I make  over  free — what  thinkest  thou  ot  that  gay  Nor- 
man knight  who  left  here  yester-morn  V’ 

“ Marry,  he  seemeth  a gallant  gentleman,  and  well  affected 
towards  the  good  cause.  More  I know  not  of  him.  But  thou, 
Donogh,  if  such  be  thy  name,”  the  Rapparee  nodded,  “thou 
and  he  had  met  before — what  of  him  V ’ 

“ In  sooth  I know  but  little,”  the  young  man  replied,  “ but 
that  little  would  make  me  fearful  of  trusting  him  too  far.  Not 
that  I would  doubt  him  now,  for  he  is,  as  thou  sayest,  a gallant 
gentleman,  and  his  father,  the  old  Lord  Netterville,  I have  seen 
dealing  heavy  blows  with  his  own  good  sword  on  some  of  Or- 
mond’s fellows  at  that  unlucky  .pass  of  Mageny ; but  still,  Gen- 
eral, I would  not  trust  the  son  while  he  turned  on  his  heel ” 

u And  wherefore  not,  Donogh  V' 

“Why,  an’  it  please  you,  General,  there’s  a lady  in  the  way, 
and  hard  fortune  to  them  for  ladies ! but  it’s  they  that  keep  the 
world  in  hot  water,  anyhow ! Now,  this  Sir  John  Netterville 
suspects — and,  between  you  and  me,  I think  he’s  not  far  wrong — 
that  the  beautiful  lady  he  has  an  eye  on,  thinks  more  of  Lord 
Maguire  than  she  does  of  him — didn’t  you  see  how  the  venom 
was  spewing  out  of  him  when  the  O’Cahan  ladies  told  how  the 
young  chief  saved  her  life  1” 

O’Neill  nodded  assent.  “ Well,  then,”  resumed  Donogh, 
“ when  the  black  drop  is  in  him  that  way,  it  will  show  itself 
maybe  when  you  least  think  it.  If  ever  the  Lord  of  Fermanagh 
gets  out  of  prison,  an’  that  lady  and  he  come  together — which 
God  in  Heaven  forbid, — for  she  comes  of  a rascally  breed — then 
I wouldn’t  give  a snap  of  my  finger  for  Sir  John  Netterville’s 
good  will  towards  us  Irish.” 

“ There  may  be  something  in  what  you  say,  friend,”  said 
O’Neill  with  a thoughtful  brow,  for  he  was  thinking  how  Judith, 


108 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


too,  had  warned  him  on  this  head ; “ in  any  case,  this  young 
knight  is  not,  or  never  may  be,  subject  to  my  command — our 
paths  are  widely  different,  Donogh.  But  hark ! the  trumpet 
from  the  walls — to  rouse  the  garrison,  most  like.” 

The  lady-moon  had  not  yet  showed  her  silver  disk  above  the 
horizon  that  night  when  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  and  his  trusty  guide, 
having  crossed  the  bridge  at  Charlemont,  and  traversed  the  then 
scarcely  formed  village  of  Moy,  sped  on  their  way  with  light- 
some step  through  the  heathy  moors  of  Tyrone,  in  the  direction 
of  Benburb,  following  the  course  of  the  river.  Little  conversation 
had  passed  between  the  two,  for  O’Neill  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts  and  speculations,  and  Donogh,  through  respect,  kept 
some  paces  in  advance.  Reaching  the  old  Castle  of  Benburb,  even 
then  a gray  ruin  lone  and  unlovely,  untenanted  save  by  the 
bird  of  night,  Owen  Roe  suddenly  stopped  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  old  fortalice.  Grand  and  commanding  it  looked,  seated 
high  on  its  rocky  throne,  with  its  solitary  tower  and  its  shattered 
outworks  clearly  reflected  in  the  winding  stream,  while  the 
moonlight  brought  out  in  strong  relief  the  Cyclopean  structure 
of  the  time-worn  and  war-worn  edifice.* 

“ What  building  is  this  T’  demanded  the  General. 

“ That — oh  ! that  is  Benburb  Castle,”  the  guide  carelessly  re- 
plied ; “ I thought  you  knew  it,  General.” 

“ I guessed  as  much,”  said  O’Neill,  his  eyes  wandering  eagerly 
over  the  storied  scene.  “ In  dreams,”  he  murmured  as  if  to 
himself,  “ 1 have  visited  ere  now  the  Blackwater’s  banks — Ben- 
burb, and  Portmore,  and  the  Yellow  Ford  are  as  places  I have 
often  seen.  Ay ! surely  that  is  Benburb  Castle,  even  such  as 
I saw  it  in  a vision  of  the  night  when  the  great  Hugh  stood  be- 
fore me  and  uttered  words  concerning  this  nation  which  mortal 
lips  may  not  speak  again.” 

“ Good  Lord !”  said  Donogh  to  himself,  and  he  moved  some 
steps  away;  “good  Lord!  he’s  taking  to  the  ghost  of  Hugh 

* This  ancient  stronghold  of  the  O’Neills  is  composed  entirely  of 
huge  boulders,  apparently  from  the  river’s  bed,  joined  by  no  cement 
of  any  kind.  This  peculiarity  of  construction  gives  Benburb  Castle 
a look  of  still  greater  antiquity  than  it  really  possesses. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


109 


O’Neill, — and  may  be  it  isn’t  right  for  me  to  stay  so  near.  In  God’s 
name  I will,  though, for  sure  I promised  to  take  him  to  the  wood, 
and  I’m  bound  to  keep  my  word.  Blessed  Mary  ! what  a tongue 
he  has  when  he  comes  to  us^it ! Now  I’m  sure  Phelimy  Boe 
could  no  more  discourse  that  way  than  he  could  fly.  I’ll  move 
a little  farther,  anyhow,  for  sure  if  I heard  the  spirit’s  voice  it 
was  all  over  with  me.  Still,  if  I could  only  catch  one  word  from 
the  great  O’Neill  of  all — even  if  he  be  a ghost — but  no — no — if 
the  voice  froze  my  blood  and  the  heart  in  my  body,  who  would 
do  what  I have  to  do — what  must  be  done  1 Sure  it  isn’t  a poor 
gerslia  that  would  do  it 

Thus  soliloquizing,  Donogh  leaned  his  arm  on  a broken  wall, 
and,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  General,  to  see  that  no  harm  befel 
him,  he  sank  into  a train  of  thought,  very  bitter  and  very  pain- 
ful, judging  by  the  contortions  of  his  usually  mild  face,  and  the 
lurid  light  which  flashed  at  times  from  under  his  darkly  frowning 
brow. 

Meanwhile,  O’Neill  stood  contemplating  the  Castle  and  the 
river,  and  the  river’s  banks.  Lost  in  the  thick-coming  memories 
of  the  past,  the  glories  of  his  warlike  ancestors,  the  tales  of  their 
noble  achievements,  drank  in  his  earlier  years  from  the  lips  of 
his  exiled  father,  these,  with  the  old,  old  story  of  the  nation’s 
wrongs  and  the  people’s  sufferings,  all  came  rushing  on  his  mind, 
and,  bowing  his  stately  head,  as  though  under  the  influence  of 
some  mighty  presence,  he  stood  motionless  as  a statue. 

“ And  this  is  the  Blackwater  V’  he  said  within  . himself, 
“ the  frontier-line  of  the  land  of  Owen,  the  impassable  barrier 
against  southern  raid,  the  boundary  which  Saxon  might  not 
cross  and  live ! — the  river  which  hath  witnessed,  above  all  others, 
the  heroic  deeds  of  the  sons  of  Nial — thou — thou — old  stream, 
the  god-made  threshold  of  their  broad  domains — thou  reflectest 
to  my  mind,  as  clear  as  in  a mirror,  the  martial  exploits  of  Hugh, 
and  Shane,  and  Donald  of  illustrious  memory,*  and  many  an- 

* The  valorous  exploits  of  poor  Shane  O’Neill  against  the  myrmi- 
dons of  English  oppression  are  well  known  to  most  readers,  and  the 
Donald  here  mentioned  was  the  same  who,  in  a preceding  reign, 
treated  as  a royal  sovereign  with  the  Spanish  monarch,  soliciting  aid 
for  I vland. 


110 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


other  princely  chief  of  my  race  who  upheld  in  his  day  the  cause 
of  country  and  religion.  Oh  river,  now  so  bright  in  the  fair 
moon’s  ray,  well  have  the  Saxons  named  thee  JZlacJc*  for  a black 
stream  hast  thou  been  to  them/^rfla!  ha!  thou  art  not  yet  so 
black  as  thou  shalt  be,  an’  God  spare  me  life.  An’  it  be  given 
me  to  rule  this  land  and  this  people,  there  remain  yet  other 
pages  of  thy  story  to  be  turned  over,  oh  stream  so  fateful  to  the 
children  of  Nial ! And  thou,  crumbling  relic  of  our  house’s 
greatness,  weird  witness  from  the  past,  I greet  thee  with  respect. 
Should  success  attend  mine  efforts,  thy  age  shall  be  renewed — 
thou  shalt  grow  young  again  like  the  eagle,  and  thy  now  de- 
fenceless walls  bristling  with  the  captured  cannon  of  the  enemy, 
thou  shalt,  as  of  old,  keep  watch  and  ward  over  the  passes  of 
the  river.  Fare  thee  well,  Benburb  ! my  heart  is  stirred  within 
me,  I know  not  why,  as  I look  upon  thee,  and  my  soul  is  on  fire 
for  high  emprise — shades  of  my  fathers ! I follow  in  your  foot- 
steps  ” 

“ I knew  it,”  muttered  the  Rapparee  leader  who  had  heard 
distinctly  these  latter  words ; “ I knew  he  wouldn’t  talk  so  with- 
out the  best  of  company.  I would  he  were  safe  away  from  here, 
for  the  icy  breath  of  the  dead  will  pierce  the  marrow  of  his  bones 
— but  what  am  I saying — sure  he  isn’t  like  other  men  at  all — • 
him  that  was  so  long  foretold  in  prophecy — isn’t  it  half  a spirit 
he  is  himself 'l  The  ne’er  a matter,  he’s  flesh  and  blood,  anyhow, 
so  I needn’t  fear  him !”  And  with  that  he  advanced  towards 
O’Neill  with  a dete:  mined  air,  as  one  who  felt  proud  of  a victory 
over  himself. 

Dexterously  and  discreetly  avoiding  all  allusion  to  what  he 
had  seen  or  heard,  Donogh  met  the  General  with  an  encomium 
on  the  beauty  of  the  night  as  though  he  had  been  lost  in  ad- 
miration. 

“ Isn’tfthat  the  beautiful  moon  all  out,  General  7 and  did  you 
ever  see  so  many  stars  'l  myself  was  trying  to  count  then?  there, 
but  it’s  what  they  seemed  to  be  making  their  game  of  me  for 

* O’Sullivan,  as  quoted  by  Mitchel,  says  that  the  Eoglish  gave 
the  name  of  Blackwater  to  this  fine  river  on  account  of  the  many  de- 
feats sustained  hy  them  along  its  banks  or  in  its  vicinity. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Ill 


the  ne’er  a one  of  them  would  stand  still  a minute  hut  winking 
and  blinking  at  me  up  there  and  popping  their  bright  heads  in 
and  out  till  I was  fairly  bothered  and  had  to  give  it  up  entirely. 
Are  we  for  the  Brantree  now'?” 

“ The  Brantree!*  the  Brantree!”  0 Neill  repeated  like  one  in 
a dream ; “ methinks  I should  know  that  name — it  was  of  evil 
repute,  was  it  not,  in  the  olden  time  'l — the  Brantree  Wood ! yes, 
yes,  a place  of  shelter  for  the  robbers  and  outlaws  of  the  coun- 
try  ” 

“ Have  a care.  General,  what  thou  savest,”  whispered  Donogh; 
“ hedges  and  ditches  have  ears  at  times,  and  the  Brantree  is  not 
to  be  meddled  with  lightly — still,  I see  the  place  is  not  unknown 
to  thee,  and  this  I tell  thee  that  there  be  those  hereabouts  who 
even  now  give  it  no  better  name.” 

They  were  passing  at  the  moment  an  old,  old  graveyard,  with 
a church  in  the  midst  seemingly  as  old,  and  O’Neill  somehow  felt 
a desire  to  linger  a moment  at  the  gate.  Not  so  with  Donogh,  who 
was  passing  rapidly  on,  having,  it  would  seem,  no  sort  of  fancy  for 
the  lone  dwellings  of  the  dead.  Just  as  they  passed  the  gate, 
however,  a cracked  female  voice  was  heard  to  issue  from  the 
shadow  of  its  deep  archway. 

“ Why,  then,  Donogh,  is  it  to  pass  Eglishf  you’d  be  doing,  with 
the  great  O’Neill  from  abroad,  and  not  stop  a minute  to  show 
him  where  so  many  of  the  children  of  Nial  rest  'l  For  shame, 
Donogh ! I thought  you  had  more  gumshin  in  you.  It’s  an  ill 
compliment  you’d  be  paying  the  spirits  that  have  waited . long 
for  him  to  revenge  their  wrongs.” 

“ Who  can  that  be cried  O’Neill  in  surprise. 

“ Hush,  hush,”  Donogh  whispered  again,  then  raising  his  voice 
he  said  in  a soothing  tone : 

* The  Brantree  Wood  is,  or  was,  even  in  the  last  generation,  an  ex- 
tensive woodland  tract  not  many  miles  from  Benburb — most  probably 
a remnant  of  the  wide-spreading  forests  for  which  Tyrone  was  once 
famous.  Many  wild  traditions  concerning  it  wore  common  amongst 
the  people. 

t I have  slightly  changed  the  topographical  position  of  old  Eglish, 
but  the  other  facts  are  correct. 


112 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Sure  you  couldn’t  suspect  me  of  the  like  of  that,  Granny  1 
I was  for  taking  the  General  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  above  where 
he’d  have  a good  look  at  the  place.” 

“ Bring  him  hither,  I tell  thee,  that  I may  have  a good  look  at 
him!” 

“ We  must  do  as  she  bids  us,  General,”  said  Donogh  to  his 
wondering  companion;  “ no  one  thinks  of  gainsaying  granny.” 

“ I am  quite  willing,”  said  Owen  Roe,  and  the  two  approached 
the  gate. 

“ Stop  there,”  said  the  cracked  voice,  “ there  where  the  moon- 
light is  full  on  his  face — there  now — that  will  do !” 

Owen  Roe  stood  still  as  directed,  and  looked  curiously  into  the 
arch,  now  partially  illumined  by  the  moon’s  rays  shining  through 
the  thick  oaken  bars  of  the  gate.  At  first  he  could  see  only  a 
dark  crouching  thing  in  the  farther  corner.  Slowly,  slowly,  it 
began  to  move,  and  raising  itself  up  a foot  or  two  higher,  it  ap- 
peared a little  old  woman  leaning  on  a stick,  with  the  hood  of 
her  red  cloak  thrown  over  her  head  so  that  only  occasional 
glimpses  could  be  had  of  the  withered  face  beneath.  Yet 
O’Neill  did  not  fail  to  note  that  there  was  something  more  than 
ordinary  in  the  bold,  firm  lines  of  that  wrinkled  visage,  and  the 
small  dark  eyes  that  gleamed  out  so  wildly  from  under  the  red 
hood. 

“ Stand  back  there,  Donogh,”  said  the  weird  hag,  “ keep 
your  own  place,  my  boy,  in  this  presence.”  The  Rapparee  did 
as  he  was  bid,  and  O’Neill,  who  had  braved  death  on  many  a 
field  and  in  many  a shape,  felt  a strange  awe  creeping  over 
him,  for  he  knew  that  the  keen  old  eyes  were  reading  his  soul 
through  the  features  of  his  face.  Silent  they  all  three  were  for 
a brief  space,  and  then  the  strange  old  woman  drew  a long 
breath  and  spoke,  as  though  to  herself: 

“ He  will  do,”  she  said,  nodding  her  aged  head  as  though  the 
fate  of  the  nation  rested  on  her  nod ; “ he  will  do,  anyhow — 
Phelimy  Roe  may  go — shake  himself — I see  the  brightness  on 
his  brow, — that  is  the  blessing  of  God, — and  there’s  the  quiet- 
ness, too — that  is  the  good  conscience — ay ! and  there’s  the 
grandeur  and  the  loftiness  of  the  high  blood  of  Nial — and  the 
strong  arm  and  the  fleet  limbs — surely,  yes,  there  is  the  man  to 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


113 


bring  the  past  and  the  future  together  and  make  the  sad  days  of 
bondage  and  mourning  like  unto  the  bright  days  of  old — ay  ! 
that  is  the  man  for  whose  coming  I waited,  and  now  I care  not 
how  soon  I go  to  my  fathers  here  within  ! Long  have  I watched 
the  sleep  of  the  sleepers  in  the  dark  hours  when  only  themselves 
were  near  me,  waiting  for  the  man  that  was  promised — now,  I’ll 
go  home — home — home  !” — and  so  saying,  out  she  stept  into  the 
clear  moonlight  on  the  road,  supporting  herself  on  her  knotted 
oaken  staff.  “ There  now,”  she  hoarsely  muttered,  ££  there’s  the 
gate  to  you — son  of  my  race,  take  old  Mabel’s  blessing,  ere  she 
go  hence  forever  ! These  eyes  have  seen  the  great  Hugh  in  the 
height  of  his  splendor,  and  alas ! in  the  depth  of  his  sorrow,  too 
— I lived  to  see  Owen  Roe,  the  O'Neill  of  God’s  making,  and  so 
my  race  is  run.” 

Owen  Roe  would  have  gladly  questioned  the  old  woman  who 
had  ££  seen  the  great  Hugh,”  but  his  first  attempt  was  unsuccess- 
ful, for  she  "waved  him  off  with  the  air  of  one  who  must  be 
obeyed,  and  tottered  down  the  road,  muttering  gloomily  to  her- 
self. She  had  not  gone  many  paces,  however,  when  a new 
thought  seemed  to  strike  her,  and  she  turned  her  head  half 
round. 

£‘  Donogh,”  said  she,  ££  I need  not  tell  you  to  obey  him  in  all 
things,  and  to  fight  till  death  against  the  enemies  of  God’s  peo- 
ple— but  this  I want  to  tell  you  : Keep  close  watch  over  them 
you  know — the  lamb  can’t  be  safe  while  the  wolf  is  near  the  fold 
— so  to  God  and  you  I leave  them !” 

££  Granny  ! Granny  !”  cried  Donogh  in  some  trepidation, ££  they 
are  not  depending  now  on  poor  fellows  like  me  and  mine  ; the 
General  here  has  taken  them  in  charge  from  the  very  first — so 
there’s  no  fear  of  them  with  God’s  help  and  his — there’s  a muz- 
zle on  the  wolf  already  !” 

££  Praised  be  the  Lord,  that  makes  my  mind  easy  !”  and  turn- 
ing again  to  the  road,  the  aged  crone  moved  away  with  an  un- 
steady faltering  step.  O’Neill  stood  looking  after  her  for  longer 
time  than  he  was  conscious  of,  spell-bound,  as  it  were,  by  her 
strange,  weird  look,  and  ways  not  less  strange.  He  was  roused 
by  the  respectful  voice  of  Donogh  at  his  side  : 

“ General,”  said  he,  ££  for  all  granny  was  so  wishful  that  you’d 


114 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


see  it,  I don’t  know  if  you’ll  care  much  about  the  place.  When 
you  saw  herself,  you  saw  the  greatest  curiosity  I ever  knew 
about  Eglish — barring  the  bell ” 

“ The  bell ! what  bell !” 

“ Why,  a bell  that  rings  underground  in  it  whenever  one  of 
your  name  of  the  real  old  stock  without  any  mixture  is  brought 
for  burial.*  The  minute  the  corpse  is  carried  inside  the  gate, 
the  bell  begins  tinkle,  tinkle,  but  as  if  it  was  away  ever  so  far, 
and  there  it  keeps  ringing  with  a silvery  sound  till  fhe  grave  is 
closed. 

“ Did  }Tou  ever  hear  it  yourself,  Donogh  1”  O’Neill  interrupted 
with  a most  incredulous  smile  playing  about  his  mouth. 

“ Well ! I can’t  say  I did,  General,  but  there’s  them  living  in 
the  neighborhood  that  did  hear  it.” 

“ I wish  I could  hear  it  myself,”  said  Owen  Roe,  as  he  turned 
from  the  gate  after  a hasty  survey  of  the  old  cemetery  5 “ hear- 
ing, like  seeing,  is  believing,  thou  knowest,  Donogh.  However, 
an’  we  mean  to  visit  the  Brantree  this  night,  I would  we  were 
on  our  way.  Not  but  what  I could  stand  longer,”  he  said  within 
himself,  “ contemplating  yonder  quiet  scene  where  so  many  of  my 
kindred  sleep  in  peace  under  the  moonlit  sod.”  And  he  looked 
back  with  a parting  sigh. 

The  word  was  all  that  Donogh  needed,  and  again  the  pair  ad- 
dressed themselves  to  the  road.  Few  words  passed  beetwen  them 
until,  having  ascended  the  steep  hill,  they  found  themselves  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  forest  ; dark  and  mysterious  it  lay  before  them, 
with  the  moonbeams  flickering  here  and  there  through  the  open- 
ings in  the  thick  foliage  above. 

“ Welcome  to  the  Brantree,  General !”  said  Donogh,  as  they 
stepped  into  the  deep  shade ; “ there’s  a path  here  that  will  take 
us  some  distance,  if  you  will  just  follow  me,  or — give  me  your 
hand,  and  I’ll  lead  you  on  !” 

“Thanks,  friend,”  said  O’Neill,  “but  I will  not  trouble  thee 
so  far — now  that  my  eyes  are  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  I can 
perceive  the  pathway  by  the  help  of  those  occasional  glimpses 
of  light  from  above.” 

* This  story  is  current  with  regard  to  more  than  one  graveyard  in 
the  old  Celtic  parts  of  Ulster. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


115 


“ In  former  times,”  observed  Donogh,  as  they  made  their  way 
slowly  through  the  bushwood,  “ we  had  not  come  even  so  far  in 
without  a challenge.  From  the  time  that  the  chieftains  raised 
their  banners  and  the  power  of  the  stranger  was  broken  in  the 
land,  the  dwellers  in  the  woods  gave  themselves  but  little 
trouble  keeping  sentry,  for  indeed  it’s  roaming  abroad  they 
used  to  be  through  the  fields — but  of  late  since  things  began  to 
go  against  us,  and  Sir  Phelim  and  the  other  chiefs  weren’t  able 
to  hold  their  own,  we  were  forced  to  take  to  our  old  quarters — 
with  God’s  help,  though,  the  tables  will  soon  turn  again — - — ” 

“ Who  goes  there  1”  said  a rough  voice  almost  close  to  them. 

“ The  best  of  friends,  Murtagh,”  replied  Donogh  3 “ are  you  all 
alive  here  1” 

“ Ay,  ay,  Captain,  alive  and  kicking.”  “ Kick  away,  then,  and 
good  luck  to  you  !” 

The  path  which  had  hitherto  guided  the  progress  of  our 
travellers  now  disappeared,  or  rather  they  turned  away  from  it 
in  a diagonal  direction  into  a a deeper  and  still  darker  portion 
of  the  wood  where  rocks  piled  on  rocks  at  times  rose  up  before 
them. 

“ Who  comes  here  V’  demanded  another  voice  from  behind  a 
projecting  fragment  of  rock. 

“ The  pike’s  point,”  was  the  answer. 

“ Sharp  as  ever — pass  on  !” 

“ Now,  most  noble  sir,”  whispered  Donogh,  “we’re  near  our 
journey’s  end.  I hope  you’ll  not  be  disappointed  in  regard  of 
what  you  came  to  see  ; at  any  rate,  it  will  be  something  new  !’ 

As  yet  there  was  no  sign  of  any  living  being,  nor  a glimpse  of 
light,  for  there  the  moonlight  never  made  its  way,  and  Owen 
Roe  began  to  wonder  how  he  could  be  so  near  an  encampment 
when  all  at  once  his  guide  stopped  short,  and  said  in  a loud 
cheerful  tone  that  woke  the  echoes  of  the  woods : 

“ General  Owen  Roe  O’Neill,  welcome  to  the  Rapparee  Camp  !” 

At  the  same  moment  a sight  burst  on  the  General  that  in  all 
his  experience  of  camps  he  had  never  seen — a sight  both  new 
and  startling.  A glade  of  the  forest  was  before  him,  or  rather 
a rocky  woodland  dell,  into  which  the  unclouded  moon,  now 
high  in  the  heavens,  shed  down  her  floods  of  silvery  light.  A 


116 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


mighty  rustling,  as  of  a forest  shook  by  the  storm,  followed 
upon  Bonogh’s  greeting,  and"  from  out  the  dark  shades  all 
around,  and  down  from  the  shelves  of  the  rocks,  men,  strong, 
stout,  stalwart  men,  came  bounding  together  on  the  green 
sward,  while  others  who  had  been  lying  sprang  to  their  feet, 
so  that  the  place  was  literally  alive  with  men.  Some  were  at- 
tired in  the  saffron-dyed  garments  distinctive  of  the  Irish  kern  of 
that  and  former  days,  a garment  the  voluminous  folds  of  which* 
gave  formidable  breadth  to  the  figure  of  the  wearer ; others  wore 
the  national  truis  and  cochal  formed  of  various  materials,  but 
in  general  of  showy  and  mixed  colors  ; while  some  again  *were 
scantily  clad  in  the  coarsest  cloth  wrapped  around  them  some- 
what after  the  Indian  fashion.  Most  of  the  heads  had  no  other 
covering  than  their  thick  gJibbe  of  long  hair,  others  had  high 
round  caps  made  of  the  skin  of  various  animals,  while  not  a few 
were  seen  with  silken  or  velvet  barradhs,  and  even  plumes  were 
not  wanting  to  catch  the  moon’s  ray  as  their  owners  stood  in 
conscious  superiority  amid  the  strange  associates  which  oppres- 
sion and  the  wild  thirst  for  revenge  had  given  them. 

“ Shoulder  your  pikes !”  cried  Donogh,  and  instantly  a for- 
est of  those  formidable  weapons  shot  up  gleaming  in  the  moon- 
light air.  That  was  the  Rapparee’s  salute. 

“Behold  our  General — Owen  Roe  O’Neill!”  said  their  Cap- 
tain again  ; “ he  has  come  to  visit  us  in  our  wild-wood  home, 
desiring  to  do  us  honor !” 

“ He  is  welcome ! — Cead  mille  failthe  !”  went  forth  from  every 
tongue,  and  the  sound  was  like  the  ocean-surge  rumbling  amid 
the  rocks. 

What  O’Neill  felt  at  that  moment  it  were  not  easy  to  describe, 
but  a few  burning  words  he  spoke,  words  of  strength,  and  hope, 
and  power,  which  made  the  Rapparees  forget  their  usual  and 
not  unnecessary  caution,  and  a wild  and  long-continued  cheer 
awoke  the  startled  echoes  of  the  place,  and  roused  the  red  deer 
from  their  midnight  lair. 

“ I have  given  him  command  over  you  in  your  own  name !” 


* We  are  told  that  from  twenty  to  thirty  ells  of  this  dyed  linen 
were  sometimes  employed  in  the  fabrication  of  one  of  these  garments. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


117 


said  Donogh  ; “ are  you  content  to  do  his  bidding  in  all  things — 
sons  of  the  Gael,  say  1” 

“ We  are  content,”  spoke  the  deep  many-toned  voice  again. 
“ By  our  father’s  wrongs  and  ours,  we  will  faithfully  serve 
him  !’* 

“For  God  and  holy  Ireland !”  said  Owen  Roe  in  a tone  of 
deep  feeling. 

“ For  God  and  holy  Ireland !”  the  homeless  multitude  re- 
sponded. 

“It  is  well  said,”  spoke  a voice  from  the  farther  side  of  the 
glade,  a voice  which  made  Owen  O’Neill  start,  for  soft  and  femi- 
nine it  was,  although  clear  and  distinct,  and  moreover  it  sounded 
strangely  familiar  to  his  ear. 

“ Comrades,  fall  back  right  and  left,”  said  the  Captain.  The 
wood-kern  instantly  obeyed,  and  a still  stranger  scene  was  pre- 
sented to  the  eyes  of  the  foreign  bred  descendant  of  the  Hy- 
Nials.  Under  a sort  of  awning,  skilfully  and  neatly  formed  by 
the  interlaced  branches  of  the  forest  trees,  seated  in  rustic  state 
on  a primitive-looking  chair  well  adapted  to  support  her  feeble 
frame,  the  aged  Lady  O’Cahan  occupied  the  most  prominent 
position.  By  her  side  stood  her  daughter,  whose  voice  it  was,  as 
O’Neill  rightly  judged,  that  had  so  lately  fallen  on  his  ear.  A 
score  or  two  of  women,  wild,  gypsey-like  figures,  yet  many  of 
them  worthy  studies  for  the  painter,  or  the  sculptor,  were 
grouped  around  the  aged  lady,  all,  however,  at  a respectful  dis- 
tance, the  moonlight  giving  to  the  whole  scene  a rich  and  pic- 
turesque character. 

“ Do  mine  eyes  deceive  me,”  said  O’Neill,  “ or  are  those  the 
ladies  of  Dungiven  I” 

“ Even  so,”  replied  the  Rapparee  Captain ; “ we  found  that  ever 
since  their  hiding-place  was  discovered  they  were  watched  day 
and  night,  and  the  fear  began  to  come  over  them  again,  so  I 
thought,  and  so  did  themselves,  that  it  was  not  safe  to  be  there 
any  longer,  and  the  boys  here  went  to  work  and  made  the 
finest  litter  ever  you  saw  of  the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  brought 
their  ladyships  home.” 

“ And  it  is  to  the  Rapparees  they  come  for  protection  V ’ 


118 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Why,  to  be  sure  it  is,  General,  and  where  else  would  they 
go — there’s  not  a man  you  see  there  that  wouldn’t  lose  a thou- 
sand lives,  if  he  had  so  many,  to  save  them  from  hurt  or 
harm.” 

And  truer  words  were  never  spoken,  for  there , at  least,  Judith 
and  her  mother  reigned  as  queens. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


119 


CHAPTER  IX. 

“ And  many  an  old  man’s  sigh,  and  many  a widow’s, 

And  many  an  orphan’s  water-standing  eye — 

Men  for  their  sons’,  wives  for  their  husbands’  fate, 

And  orphans  for  their  parents’  timeless  death ■” 

Shakespeare. 

- “ To  trample  on  all  human  feelings,  all 
Ties  which  bind  man  to  man,  to  emulate 
The  fiends,  who  will  one  day  requite  them  in 
Variety  of  torturing.” 

Byron’s  Two  Foscari. 

It  was  a pleasant  renewal  of  acquaintance  when  Owen  Roe 
was  conducted  by  Donogh  to  a seat  near  the  Lady  O’Cahan,  who 
rose  with  dignity  to  receive  him,  and  extended  her  hand  with  as 
lofty  an  air  as  though  she  stood  under  the  silken  canopy  as  of 
old  on  the  dais  in  Dungiven  hall.  To  O’Neill’s  respectful  saluta- 
tion, Judith  only  bowed  and  said:  “ Welcome  to  the  Rapparee 
camp,  son  of  the  Hy-Nial !” 

“ Chieftain  of  Tyr-Owen !”  added  the  old  woman. 

“ Nay,  madam,  not  so,”  said  O’Neill  quickly ; “ such  proud 
title  belongeth  not  to  me — I am  simply,  Owen  Mac  Art,  en- 
dowed by  the  favor  of  the  good  people  of  these  parts  with  the 
style  of  General — however  unworthy  I be  to  bear  it!  But 
chieftain  of  Tyr-Owen  I am  not — never  can  be !” 

“ Chieftain  of  Tyr-Owen  I say  thou  art — or  soon  shall  be.” 
The  aged  lady  repeated  with  solemn  emphasis : “ Before  yonder 
moon  puts  forth  her  horns  again  the  sept  shall  have  a new  ruler, 
and  one  shall  sit  in  the  chair  of  Royalty*  whose  feet  have  never 

* The  ancient  coronation-chair  of  the  O’Neill’s  on  the  Rath  of  Tul- 
loghoge.  The  seat  of  it  was,  in  former  times,  the  famous  Lia  Fail , 


120 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


yet  pressed  the  grass  of  Tulloghoge ! Believe  my  word,  for  the 
voices  of  the  night  have  made  it  known  unto  me  !” 

“ Dominus  Vobiscum,  fratres  /”  said  a voice  from  behind  one 
of  the  rocks,  and  Malachy  na  Soggarth  stept  out  just  in  time  to 
prevent  the  commotion  following  on  the  unexpected  sound.  He 
was  accompanied  by  a nephew  of  his  whom  all  recognized  as 
one  of  the  holy  confraternity  of  Rapparees.  The  fame  of  Mala- 
chy had  long  ago  reached  beyond  the  limits  of  McMahon’s  coun- 
try, and  no  sooner  was  his  name  whispered  around  than  a murmur 
of  kindly  greeting  was  heard  on  evary  side. 

“ Welcome,  Malachy,”  said  the  Captain  advancing  with  a 
smile  to  shake  him  by  the  hand ; “in  good  hour  thou  earnest 
hither,  but  what  wind  bore  thee  to  the  Brantree  1’ 

“ By  my  word,  good  sir,”  said  the  panting  follower  of  McMahon, 
“ I had  hard  work  to  get  here,  as  Looney  there  can  tell  you. 
But  still  I wanted  to  see  what  the  place  looked  like  when  you’d 
be  all  at  home,  the  which  I had  often  heard  the  boy  say  was  a 
fine  sight  entirely.  When  the  bishop  and  myself  came  down  to 
Charlemont  to  the  great  meeting,  I thought  as  I was  so  near  I’d 
go  to  Lough  Derg*  before  I went  home.  So  I just  let  his 

or  Stone  of  Destiny,  afterwards  removed  to  the  royal  abbey  of  Scone, 
in  Scotland,  and  now,  it  is  believed,  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

* There  are  few  of  our  readers  unfamiliar  with  the  name  of  this 
famous  little  lake — a very  small  one  it  is,  too — situate  amongst  d eary 
hills  in  the  county  of  Donegal.  As  containing  the  island  which  enjoys 
the  possession  of  St.  Patrick’s  Purgatory,  the  Lough  is  and  has  b-;en 
for  many  centuries  an  object  of  veneration,  not  only  in  Ireland,  but  in 
other  Catholic  countries.  Speaking  of  Lough  Derg  a modern  tourist 
observes  : “ On  the  ridge  where  I stood,  I had  leisure  to  look  around. 
To  the  southwest  lay  Lough  Erne,  with  all  its  isles  and  cultivated 
shores  ; to  the  northwest  Lough  Derg — and  truly  never  did  I mark 
such  a contrast.  Lough  Derg  under  my  feet — the  lake,  the  shores, 
the  mountains,  the  accompaniments  of  all  sorts,  presented  the  very 
landscape  of  desolation  ; its  waters  expanding  in  their  highland  soli- 
tude, amidst  a wide  waste  of  moors,  without  one  green  spot  to  refresh 
the  eye,  without  a house  or  tree — all  mournful  in  the  brown  hue  of 
its  far-stretching  bogs,  and  the  grey  uniformity  of  its  rocks  ; the  sur- 
rounding mountains  even  partook  of  the  sombre  character  of  the  place, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


121 


lordship  go  back  his  lone  for  this  once,  especially  as  the  chief 
was  with  him.  I mean  to  start  for  the  Island*  now,  by  the  peep 
of  day  the  morrow,  but  first  I thought  I’d  see  how  matters  stood 
here,  now  that  we’re  in  a fair  way  for  another  brush  with  the 
enemy.” 

Casting  his  slow  glance  around,  Malachy’s  eye  now  lit  on  Lady 
O’Cahan,  and  off  went  his  cap  at  once  with  a “ God  and  the 
Virgin  save  you,  lady !”  Neither  she  nor  her  daughter  was 
known  to  him,  but  he  well  knew  by  the  rough  respect  paid  to 
them  that  they  were  branches  of  some  fallen  tree  that  had  tow- 
ered high  in  its  day. 

O’Neill  next  came  under  Malachy’s  observation,  and  then  his 
surprise  was  at  the  height.  Bowing  down  as  low  as  he  could 
without  losing  his  equilibrium,  he  drew  himself  up  again  to  his 
full  perpendicular,  and,  for  once,  lost  the  use  of  his  tongue. 

“ What,  Malachy  McMahon  here  V’  said  O’Neill  with  a pleas- 
ant smile;  “ are  you  a Rapparee,  too,  Malachy  V’ 

“A  Rapparee!  your  lordship!”  Malachy  exclaimed  in  no 
small  trepidation ; “ me  a Rapparee ! me  that  wouldn’t  have 
the  heart  to  kill  a chicken ! a poor  Rapparee  Td  make  !” 

“ No,  General,  said  Donogh  advancing,  “ Malachy  isn’t  so 
unlucky  as  to  have  any  title  to  that  name.” 

“ Unlucky ! how  is  that,  Captain  I” 

“ Why,  you  see,  there’s  ne’er  a one  of  us  here  that  hasn’t  a 
commission  from  the  enemy.” 

“ A commission  from  the  enemy — what  may  that  mean  I” 
“Well!  it’s  a word  that  doesn’t  sound  well,”  said  the  young 

their  forms  without  grandeur,  their  ranges  continuous  and  without 
elevation.  The  lake  itself  was  certainly  as  fine  as  rocky  shores  and 

numerous  islands  could  make  it ” 

* The  Island,  so  called  by  way  of  distinction,  is  the  largest  of 
tho:e  which  dot  the  reddish  surface  of  Lough  Derg  (i.  e.  the  red  lake). 
It  is  called  the  Station  Island,  as  most  of  the  stations  are  performed 
there.  In  a cave  of  this  world-famed  island  is  the  renowned  Purga- 
tory of  St.  Patrick,  the  scene  of  Calderon’s  great  poem.  On  this 
island  are  situate  the  chapel,  priest’s  house,  &c.  Ou  the  Saint’s  Island, 
one  of  lesser  extent,  are  the  ruin3  of  an  ancient  priory. 

16 


122 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Captain,  “but  still  it's  true — there’s  not  a man  here  that  hasn’t 
his  license  to  fight  from  one  or  other  of  the  Puritan  generals  !” 

O’Neill  was  at  a loss  to  understand  his  meaning,  and  Donogh 
hastened  to  explain  with  a bitter  laugh.  “ Now,”  said  he,  “ Gen- 
eral O’Neill,  what  I mean  is  this : there  is  not  one  of  us  pike- 
men  here  who  hath  not  a dismal  score  to  settle  with  these  ac- 
cursed strangers,  a debt  as  binding  on  our  consciences  as  one  of 
red  gold — ay  ! and  a thousand  times  more  so.  Stand  forward, 
Florry  Muldoon ! and  tell  the  General  what  hath  made  you  a 
Rapparee !” 

The  person  addressed,  a tall  and  venerable-looking  man  of 
some  sixty  odd  years,  advanced,  with  his  pike  on  his  shoulder, 
and  spoke  in  a deep,  husky  voice  : 

“ The  wife  of  my  bosom  and  the  children  of  my  love — my 
two  fine  sons  and  three  daughters,  the  flower  of  the  country  side, 
were  butchered  by  a party  of  Montgomery’s  soldiers  before  mine 
eyes — ” he  stopped — he  could  say  no  more. 

“ Did  they  only  butcher  them  all,  Florry  1”  said  another  veteran 
pikesman  by  his  side, — a fierce-looking  man  of  stalwart  frame, 
still  erect  and  firm. 

“ Wasn’t  that  enough  1”  said  the  other,  turning  short  on  him. 

“ It  was , Florry,  sure  it  was,  enough  to  make  you  a sworn 
Rapparee,  but  it  wasn’t  so  bad  but  what  it  might  be  worse.  Now 
I had  only  one  daughter — only  one — and  there’s  many  here  can 
tell  you  what  Nora  O’Boyle  was — it  wouldn’t  become  me  to  say 
it  anyhow, — me  that  was  her  father — well ! that  darling  of  the 
world — the  best  child  that  ever  broke  the  bread  of  life — one  of 
their  officers  laid  an  eye  on  her  as  she  was  washing  clothes  at 
the  river  with  some  neighbor  women,  and — and — they  took  her, 
so  they  did,  and  they  threw  her  over  one  of  their  cruppers  all  as  one 
as  a bag  of  oats,  and  they  put  a gag  on  her  mouth,  and  carried 
her  off,  and  hilt  or  hair  of  her  we  never  seen  till  after  her  poor 
mother  died  of  a broken  heart,  and  then  she  dropped  into  us 
one  black  day  without  knowing  where  she  was  going,  for— for — 
the  wits  had  left  my  lanna  entirely.  Och,  boys,  boys,  wasn’t  it 
a wonder  I kept  my  own — wasn’t  it  I — nor  I suppose  I wouldn’t 
either,  only  that  I tried  to  keep  myself  cool  and  quiet  on  account 
of  the  work  that  was  before  me.  And  I did  part  of  it  already— 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


123 


faith  I did  so,  for  that  devil’s  limb  of  an  officer  was  pointed  out 
to  me  not  long  after  by  one  who  had  seen  him  taking  the  gersha 
away,  and  I gave  him  his  oats — ha ! ha  ! ha ! I’ll  go  bail  he’l 
he  as  quiet  as  a lamb  for  the  time  to  come.” 

“ Why,  what  did  you  do,  Pete  1”  said  his  Captain  much  in- 
terested, as  were  all  who  heard  the  sad  recital. 

“ Do  ! — oh,  then,  I did  plenty ! — I clove  him  to  the  belt  with 
this  brave  hatchet  of  mine — do  you  see  it,  Captain  1 — it’s  my 
companion  ever  since  by  night  and  by  day,  and  will,  as  long  as 
there’s  a hell-hound  of  them  Puritans  on  Irish  soil  to  be  hunted 
— oh  faith,  yes,  Nora  O’Boyle  was  well  revenged,  and  shall  be 
better,  if  I am  spared  !” 

“ And  you,  Diarmid  !”  said  the  Captain  to  a tall,  athletic  young 
man,  with  a frank,  good-natured  countenance,  on  which  no  trace 
of  strong  passion  was  visible,  “ what  brought  you  here  V’ 

“ It’s  easy  told,  Captain,”  the  young  Rapparee  replied  with  a 
sudden  change  of  manner — a ruffling,  as  it  were,  of  the  smooth 
surface ; “ I had  two  young  brothers,  as  promising  boys  as  you’d 
see  in  a summer’s  day,  and  Stewart’s  soldiers  hung  them  like 
dogs  from  one  of  the  trees  in  our  own  haggard 

u Hung  them  !”  repeated  O’Neill  in  horror;  “ and  why,  good 
friend,  I pray  thee  7” 

“Why,  General,  the  soldiers  stopped  to  water  their  horses 
near  our  house  where  the  poor  fellows  were  fishing, — for  fun  for 
themselves  the  Sassum  dergs  began  to  poke  at  the  boys  with 
their  bayonets,  calling  them  ‘ Papist  brats’  and  all  such  hard 
names.  At  last  one  of  my  brothers — poor  Connor — told  them 
they  had  better  leave  off  their  tricks,  or  Sir  Phelim  might  have 
a word  to  say  to  them — with  that  they  made  at  the  two,  though 
one  of  them  never  opened  his  lips  to  say  them  ill,  and  they  tore 
the  clothes  in  flitters  off  their  backs  and  made  ropes  of  them  to 
hang  them!” 

“ And  where  were  you,  Diarmid,  when  that  was  done  T’  said 
Judith  from  behind. 

“ Your  ladyship  may  well  ask  the  question,”  said  the  young 
man  turning  quickly  and  bowing  very  low ; “ my  father  and 
myself  were  at  the  bog  a mile  or  so  off,  cutting  turf — if  we  had 
been  on  the  spot,  it’s  like  we  couldn’t  have  saved  the  gorsoons, 


124 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  it’s  like,  too,  that  I wouldn’t  he  here  now  to  tell  the  tale— 
but — ” he  paused  to  take  breath,  and  a dark  scowl  settled  on 
his  brow — “ but,  we’d  have  done  for  the  hangmen , anyhow,  if 
nothing  more.  Still  and  all,  I have  one  comfort,”  he  added 
with  a ghastly  smile,  “ if  they  escaped  us,  others  of  the  murder- 
ing crew  did  not — we’ve  brought  down  some  of  their  highest 
heads  since  then,  and  though  I am  alone  now, — for  the  old 
father  is  at  rest  long  ago  in  Tynan  mould, — there’s  strength 
enough  in  this  arm” — and  he  held  up  his  brawny  right  arm — “ to 
do  the  work  of  two  !” 

“ Your  story  is  bad  enough,  Diarmid,”  said  another  young  fel-> 
low,  a strapping  Tyrone  mountaineer,  coming  forward,  “ but 
wait  till  you  hear  mine.” 

“ Ay ! ay  !”  said  many  voices,  “ hear  what  Denny  has  to  tell. 
His  is  the  worst  of  all.” 

“ I had  a kind  loving  mother  once,”  said  the  tall  Rapparee  in 
a gloomy  voice,  “ and  I had  but  her — we  two  were  alone  in  the 
world,  and  it’s  little  either  of  us  cared  for  the  world,  so  long  as 
we  had  one  another.  Well ! my  poor  mother  was  very  fond  of 
her.  beads  and  her  prayers,  and  when  I used  to  be  away  from 
home  she’d  spend  most  of  her  time  in  a sort  of  a cave  in  the 
hill-side  where  there  was  an  altar  made  of  clay  with  a big  flag 
over  the  top,  where  Mass  was  said  of  an  odd  time  before  day- 
light in  the  morning  when  any  priest  came  the  way.  There  was 
an  old  wooden  cross  up  over  the  altar,  you  see,  and  my  mother 
and  some  others  of  the  neighbors  would  go  there  when  they 
could  to  say  their  prayers  on  account  of  the  cross  and  the  altar 
and  Mass  being  said  in  it  at  times.  But  that  didn’t  last  long, 
for  one  of  the  black  nebs*  that  lived  almost  in  the  door  with  us, 
happened  to  find  out  the  secret,  and  doesn’t  he  watch  his  oppor- 
tunity till  Mass  was  a-saying  the  next  time,  and  then  off  he  goes 
to  Castle-Stewart  and  brings  a party  of  the  red-coats  and — and 
they  made  a fire  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave — and  smothered  every 
soul  in  it — ay  ! priest,  people,  and  all !” 

He  got  over  the  last  part  of  his  recital  with  much  difficulty, 

* This  name  was  often  given  by  the  Catholics  of  Ulster  to  the  stern 
Puritans  their  neighbors. 


TIIS  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


125 


for  the  words  were  choking  him,  and  when  he  had  ended,  he 
clenched  his  ponderous  fist  and  ground  his  teeth  like  a tiger 
athirst  for  blood,  then,  as  if  unable  to  endure  the  sight  of  mortal 
man,  he  turned  and  rushed  into  the  depth  of  the  forest. 

“ Poor  fellow  !”  said  one  of  his  comrades  looking  after  him, 
“ lie  was  away  at  the  time  with  Sir  Phelim’s  army  near  Drogh- 
eda.” 

“ Great  God ! how  terrible — how  piteous  are  these  tales !”  cried 
Owen  O’Neill,  his  features  betraying  the  extent  of  that  emotion 
which  he  cared  not  to  express ; “ was  ever  people  so  wronged,  so 
outraged  as  this  V ’ 

“ And  remember  what  I told  you  at  the  start,  General,”  said 
Donogh  in  a husky  voice,  “ that  every  one  of  us  here  has  cre- 
dentials from  the  enemy.  You  see  now  what  kind  they  be,  and 
may  guess  from  that  what  manner  of  soldiers  the  wood-kern 
are,  and  why  it  is  that  they  hate  us  as  they  do.  We  stink  in 
their  nostrils,  and  no  wonder.  However,  General,  I think  you 
have  heard  enough  to  convince  you  that  you  may  trust  a Rap- 
paree  at  any  hour  or  in  any  place.  Slieve  Gullian  there  beyond 
will  move  from  its  old  stand  before  one  of  us  betrays  the  cause.” 

A deep  murmur  of  applause  now  ran  through  the  assembly, 
and  the  very  pikes  on  the  men’s  shoulders  made  a clatter  by  way 
of  accompaniment. 

“ You  have  spoken  only  for  the  men,  Captain,”  said  Judith 
O’Cahan  from  her  place  beside  her  mother ; “ let  me  remind  the 
General  that  all  these  helpless  females  have  similar  tales  to  tell. 
The  daughters  of  the  land  are,  it  may  be,  the  most  aggrieved,  in 
that  they  must  perish,  these  woful  days,  when  deprived  of  their 
natural  protectors,  and  turned  out  on  a bare,  desolate  country, 
where  those  who  would  befriend  them  have  not  the  power  or  the 
means.” 

“Ay,”  said  the  old  man  Florry  Muldoon,  “just  look  at  the 
old  madam,  and  think  of  what  she  was  !” 

“Let  that  pass,  I pray  you,”  said  Judith  haughtily ; “ our 
wrongs  are  known  to  General  O’Neill,  and  we  love  not  to  hear 
them  told  over !” 

The  pride  of  her  princely  lineage  tinged  the  pale  cheek  of 
O’Cahan’s  daughter,  and  made  her  averse  to  have  the  dark  pages 


126 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  her  house’s  latter  fortunes  held  up  for  the  inspection  of  a 
multitude. 

This  O’Neill  saw,  and  he  well  understood  the  feeling.  “ Friend 
Donogh,”  he  said,  hastily  addressing  the  Captain,  “ I am  anxious 
to  learn  what  score  you  have  against  the  Sassenach.  You  told 
me  but  lately  that  I should  one  day  know  it  all — is  the  time  yet 
come 

This  question  produced  a startling  effect  ou  Donogh.  The 
blood  rushed  to  his  face,  then  back  again  to  his  heart,  and  left 
him  pale  and  livid  as  a corpse.  A sudden  faintness  came  over 
him,  too,  and  he  grasped  the  arm  of  Angus  Dhu  who  stood  near 
him  at  the  moment. 

“Poor  boy!  poor  boy!”  ejaculated  Malachy,  “there’s  a weak- 
ness coming  over  him — is  there  any  water  at  hand  1” 

“ Ay,  oceans  of  it,”  said  Donogh,  mastering  himself  by  a vio- 
lent effort,  and  no  little  amused  by  Malachy’s  compassionate 
demand  for  water ; “ were  you  wanting  any  I”  Turning  to  O’Neill 
before  the  slow  organs  of  Malachy  had  prepared  an  answer,  the 
young  man  said : 

“ Although  I’d  a’most  as  soon  take  the  earth  from  over  them 
and  leave  all  comers  to  look  upon  their  mouldering  remains  as 
to  tell  over  the  black,  horrid  murder  of  my  nearest  and  dearest, 
still,  I’ll  do  it  at  your  bidding,  General  O’Neill,  to  let  you  see 
what  devils  in  human  form  you  have  to  deal  with.  You  have 
heard  surely  of  Island  Magee  I” 

“Heard  of  it,  Donogh!  ay,  marry,  have  I — all  Europe  hath 
rung  with  the  name,  and  the  horror  of  that  massacre  hath  made 
the  blood  in  even  royal  veins  to  run  cold — it  moved  the  inmost 
heart  of  Christendom.” 

“ Well ! General,  on  that  night  of  woe,  I lost  father  and  mother, 
sisters  and  brothers — well  nigh  all  I had  in  the  world ” 

“ Except  one  little  bit  of  a gersha ,”  said  a voice  from  the  out- 
skirts of  the  crowd,  “ and  no  thanks  to  the  Sassum  dergs  if  you 
didn’t  lose  her,  too.” 

“ True  for  you,  Shamus !”  cried  Donogh  quickly,  for  the  voice 
was  well  known  to  him ; “ God  knows,  and  I know,  and  Aileen 
knows,  too,  who  it  was  that  saved  her.  That’s  Sir  Phelim’s 
foster-brother,  General,”  dropping  his  voice  to  an  under  tone. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  127 

* 

“ And  is  he  one  of  you  7” 

“ Well,  no,  General,  he  never  took  the  oath,  nor  nobody  asked 
him,  but  he  comes  and  goes  as  he  lists  amongst  us,  for  a truer 
comrade  or  a braver  soldier  never  shouldered  a pike.  You  might 
depend  your  life  to  him,  though  I don’t  say  but  he  has  a little 
coolness  towards  you  on  account  of  your  stepping  into  Sir  Phe- 
lim's  shoes.  You  might  as  well  touch  the  apple  of  his  eye  as 
touch  his  chief  in  aught.” 

“No  blame  to  him  for  that.”  said  Owen  in  the  same  low  tone, 
“ but,”  raising  his  voice,  “ you  said  most  of  your  family  were 
slaughtered  on  that  fatal  night.” 

“ I did,  General,  and  though  I say  it  myself,  there  wasn’t  a 
happier  or  a more  united  family  from  here  to  there,  nor  one  more 
comfortably  situated — that  is,  for  poor  people — than  Corny 
Magee's  /”  He  stopped — his  voice  was  lost  in  choking  sobs,  but 
any  further  words  of  his  were  superfluous  at  the  moment,  for, 
at  the  mention  of  that  name,  so  often  told  over  in  the  sad  story 
of  the  massacre,  a wild  shout,  a yell  of  execration  for  the  per- 
petrators of  the  black  deed,  burst  from  the  war-like  Rapparees, 
making  the  rocks  and  the  old  woods  ring  again.  Before  the 
sound  had  died  away,  Donogh  sprang  on  a ledge  of  rock  near 
him,  where  the  moonbeams  shone  full  upon  his  light  yet  athletic 
figure  and  his  now  strongly  agitated  countenance.  Tearing  off 
the  stripe  of  brown  drugget  from  his  arm,  he  held  it  up  to  the 
view  of  all. 

“ And  there,”  said  he,  “ mark  those  stains — they  are  the  min- 
gled blood  of  my  parents — this  was  a piece  of  my  mother’s 
kirtle — it  is  now,  and  shall  be  to  my  latest  breath,  the  badge  of 
my  office  as  avenger  of  my  race ! General,  I pray  you,  excuse 
me,”  he  said  in  a faint  voice,  as  he  reached  his  side  again,  amid 
the  oft-renewed  groans  of  the  fierce  multitude,  “ my  heart  is 
oppressed,  and  my  brain  throbs  as  though  it  would  burst  my 
head — I must  e’en  lay  me  down  a brief  space  or  the  senses  may 
go  from  me  entirely ! Angus,  good  boy,  see  if  you  can’t  find 
somewhat  to  offer  the  General  in  the  way  of  eating  or  drinking  !” 
So  saying,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Shamus,  who  had  darted 
through  the  crowd  for  the  purpose,  the  young  Captain  withdrew 
into  the  neighboring  thicket,  where  his  couch  of  heather  had 


128  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 

• 

been  spread  by  careful  bands.  After  a few  moments,  Sbamns 
came  back,  with  the  Captain’s  orders  for  the  men  to  betake 
themselves  to  rest.  A few  minutes  more  and  the  moonlight 
glade  was  as  silent  and  lonely  as  though  the  Rapparees  were 
miles  away.  The  women  quickly  followed  the  example  of  the 
men,  and  betook  themselves  to  the  place  set  apart  for  their  ac- 
commodation, viz.,  a sort  of  sylvan  saloon  inclosed,  where  the 
rocks  and  trees  left  it  open,  by  a rude  screen  of  wicker-work. 

Before  they  retired,  these  amazons  of  the  woods  did  not  fail  to 
compliment  the  so-long  expected  leader,  whose  personal  ap- 
pearance and  general  demeanor  they  had  been  criticising  amongst 
themselves,  “after  the  manner  of  women,”  to  his  decided  ad- 
vantage. 

General  O’Neill  was  much  too  polite,  and,  we  must  add,  too 
devoted  an  admirer  of  the  sex,  to  receive  such  a manifestation 
with  even  a show  of  indifference,  and  the  smiling  condescension 
wherewith  he  thanked  his  fair  friends  for  the  expression  of 
their  good  opinion  quite  won  their  hearts.  There  was  not  one 
of  them,  matrons  or  maids,  who  would  not  have  sworn  on  the 
Book  that  fine  summer  night  that  Owen  Roe  would  have  the 
country  cleared  of  the  foreigners  in  “ less  than  no  time.” 

But  there  were  those  who  spoke  or  stirred  not  whose  opinions 
would  have  carried  more  weight,  and  when,  last  of  all,  Judith 
offered  her  arm  to  her  mother,  without  even  a word  of  encour- 
agement, he  felt  disappointed  he  scarce  knew  why. 

“ Lady  O’Cahan,”  said  he,  approaching  her  with  the  most 
profound  respect,  “it  grieves  me  more  than  I can  say  to  leave 
you  and  fair  Mistress  Judith  in  such  unsafe  quarters.” 

“ Say  not  unsafe,  I pray  you,”  said  Judith  with  the  earnest- 
ness which  belonged  to  her  character;  “I  tell  you,  we  deem 
ourselves  as  safe  here,  surrounded  by  these  wild,  outlawed  men, 
as  we  would  under  cover  of  my  father’s  ramparts  in  the  days 
when  they  were  high  and  strong.  There  is  not  one  of  these 
brave  poor  fellows  that  would  not  die  to  save  us !” 

“ They  have  been  the  best  of  friends  to  us,”  muttered  the  aged 
lady  in  her  strange  dreamy  voice,  “ an’  we  ever  come  to  have  a 
home,  none  of  them  shall  want  a shelter  were  they  bann’d  an 
hundred  times  over.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


129 


“ Heaven  bless  you,  madam,”  said  Donogh  coming  forward, 
“ it's  well  we  know  what’s  in  your  heart  for  us,  and  sure  you 
needn’t  make  so  much  of  the  little  we  ever  did  for  you — the  black 
stranger  couldn’t  do  less,  if  he  had  e’er  a heart  within  him ! 
Well,  General,  I suppose  you'd  be  wishful  to  get  back  now — it 
will  be  broad  day  before  we  get  to  the  Castle.” 

“I  want  to  lie  down,  daughter,”  said  the  old  woman  faintly, 
“ the  old  bones  of  me  are  tired — tired — oh  ! age — old  age,  when 
thou  and  poverty  come  together,  ye  are  poor,  poor  mates — 
poor,  poor  mates  ! Fare  thee  well,  Owen  0 Neill,  and  take  an 
old  woman’s  blessing.” 

“ God  and  the  saints  protect  thee,”  whispered  Judith,  as  she  led 
her  mother  back  into  the  woods.  “ Let  me  hear  full  soon  of  the 
inauguration  on  Tulloghoge — an’  the  clan  will  have  it  so,  see  that 
you  oppose  it  not.  The  0 Neill , thou  knowest,  ever  holdeth  the 
balance  here  in  Ulster !” 


130 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

“ To  the  common  people, 

How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts, 

With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy  !” 

Shakespeare. 

“ What  fate  imposes,  men  must  needs  abide ; 

It  boots  not  to  resist  both  wind  and  tide.” 

Shakespeare. 

A week  or  so  after  Owen  Roe’s  visit  to  the  Brantree,  a funeral 
train  was  seen  wending  its  way  amongst  the  hills  and  hillocks  of 
that  undulating  district  contiguous  to  old  Eglish.  The  cortege 
was  long  and  imposing  in  its  character,  for  the  clansmen  of  Tyr- 
Owen  who  bore  the  honored  name  of  O’Neill  were  there  in  large 
numbers,  and  the  martial  regularity  of  their  step  and  the  gay 
costume  so  well  known  in  the  northern  wars,  gave  a military  air 
to  the  procession ; but  for  the  crowd  of  wailing  women  that  fol- 
lowed next  to  the  bier,  (a  sort  of  two-wheeled  car  commonly 
used  then  and  long  after  by  the  peasantry,)  one  might  have  sup- 
posed that  the  dead  was  one  of  the  warriors.  Few  would  have 
guessed  that  it  was  the  half-crazed  “ Granny  the  gate”*  whom 
the  O’Neills  were  bearing  to  her  last  resting-place  amongst  the 
dust  of  her  progenitors.  Yet  so  it  was,  and  the  death  of  that 
lonely  old  woman  was  sincerely  mourned  by  the  kind-hearted  and 
unsophisticated  children  of  the  soil  who  had  done  all  that  her 
demented  state  would  allow  to  make  her  last  days  comfortable. 

* This  custom  of  giving  soubriquets  from  personal  habits  or  pur- 
suits has  come  down  even  to  the  present  generation  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts of  Ireland.  It  is  clearly  borrowed  from  our  own  “ Celtic 
Tongue,”  and  has  a strange  sound  in  that  imported  from  beyond  the 
Channel. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


131 


And  soon  the  procession  was  largely  increased  by  many  of  the 
outlawed  tenants  of  the  Brantree,  anxious  to  pay  their  tribute  of 
respect  to  the  blood  that  had  filled  the  veins  of  Granny.  Their 
captain,  however,  was  not  to  be  seen,  for,  long  before  the  hour 
appointed  for  the  funeral,  he  had  gone  in  the  train  of  Owen  Roe 
miles  away  on  an  exploring  expedition.  It  so  happened  that 
they  reached  the  churchyard  wall  just  as  the  gate  was  thrown 
open  to  admit  her  who  had  so  long  kept  'watch  and  ward  thereat. 
Alighting  from  their  horses,  they  followed  the  funeral  into  the 
graveyard,  and  strangely  enough,  from  the  moment  the  gate 
was  opened,  the  low  tinkling  of  a bell  was  heard  distinctly,  fall- 
ing soft  and  silvery  on  the  ear  like  the  voices  of  long-departed 
friends  heard  in  dreams  of  night.  The  cry  of  the  keeners  was 
instantly  hushed,  and  the  clansmen  bowed  their  heads  to  listen. 

“ Now,  General,”  whispered  the  Rapparee  Captain,  “ what  did 
I tell  you — you  believe  my  word  now,  do  you  not  V* 

“It  is  very  strange,”  replied  O’Neill,  musingly.  “ But,”  he 
added,  speaking  to  himself  in  an  under  tone,  “ supernatural 
agency  is  out  of  the  question — a mystery  there  must  be  in  it, 
and  I would  I might  fathom  it.*  It  sounds  like  a church-bell,” 
he  said  to  Donogh  ; “ hark  !” 

“It  is  even  so,  noble  sir,  and  we  simple  country  folk  take  it 
for  a warning  to  be  mindful  of  God’s  service,  I-n  days  when 
there  were  no  priests  to  be  had  here — even  worse  times  than  our 
own — they  tell  me  that  that  was  the  meaning  the  people  took 
from  the  sound  of  these- churchyard  bells,  and  hearing  them 
they  thought  of  the  Church  and  the  Holy  Mass  and  the  Priest  in 
his  robes,  and  they  promised  to  be  always  faithful  to  religion, 
and  to  do  what  it  taught  them,  and  they  looked  forward  to  bet- 
ter days  to  come.f  God  knows  where  the  sound  comes  from  !” 
he  added,  with  the  simple  earnestness  of  a believer. 

* Let  no  proud  skeptic  scoff  at  these  innocent  traditions  and  soul- 
soothing  superstitions,  peculiar  to  a faithful,  unsophisticated  people, 
circumstanced  as  our  pious  forefathers  were.  They  are  the  super- 
stitions of  a Christian  nation,  long  ground  down  by  the  persecuting 
arm  of  heresy. 

t The  story  current  amongst  the  peasantry  is  that  some  venturous 


132 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Meanwhile  the  interment  proceeded,  and  while  the  nearest 
relations  of  the  deceased  were  filling  up  the  grave,  the  solemn 
and  sweet  tinkling  of  the  invisible  bell  formed  a strange  accom- 
paniment to  the  dull,  heavy  sound  of  the  earth  falling  on  the 
rough  coffin. 

Superstition  had  but  little  hold  on  the  mind  of  Owen  Roe,  and 
yet  the  tinkling  of  that  churchyard  bell  made  no  slight  impres- 
sion upon  him,  and  came  often  on  his  ear  in  after  years  amid 
the  roar  of  battle  and  the  deafening  crash  of  artillery. 

When  the  last  shovelful  of  earth  was  laid  on  the  grave  the 
knell  ceased,  and  each  having  breathed  a short  prayer  for  the 
eternal  repose  of  poor  Granny,  quitted  the  churchyard  in  silence, 
leaving  the  lone  old  watcher  of  the  gate  to  sleep  her  last  sleep 
in  peace.  Once  outside  the  gate,  the  presence  of  Owen  Roe  was 
noticed  by  a wild  cheer  of  joyous  recognition,  and  the  clansmen, 
supposing  him  to  be  there  through  respect  for  the  old  blood, 
pressed  eagerly  forward  to  shake  hands  and  express  their  un- 
bounded satisfaction.  And  the  new-made  general,  the  foreign 
officer  of  rank,  exchanged  a courteous  greeting  with  each,  and 
received  their  gratulations  with  evident  pleasure,  well  pleased,  as 
he  said,  to  shake  the  hands  that  were  to  aid  in  working  out  the 
deliverance  of  their  country.  He  was  glad  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  so  many  of  his  kith  and  kin,”  as  he  adroitly 
phrased  it. 

When  Sir  Phelim  heard  of  his  kinsman’s  appearance  at,  what 
would  now  be  considered  a pauper  funeral,  he  burst  into  a loud 
laugh,  and  declared  that  Red  Owen  must  be  mad — mad  as  a 
March  hare.  When  a few  days  had  past,  and  Shamus  came  to 
tell  him  that  he  heard  of  nothing  wherever  he  went  but  the 
goodness  of  Owen  Roe  and  the  gra  he  had  for  the  old  stock, 
and  how  he  showed  it  more  in  the  little  time  he  was  among 
them  than  others  that  were  bred  and  born  on  the  spot  and  had 
a better  right  to  look  after  the  people. 

persons  in  after  times,  seeking  to  find  out  the  secret  of  “ the  under- 
ground bell,”  dug  up  the  consecrated  earth  till  they  came  upon  it, 
and  lo  ! what  should  it  be  but  the  bell  of  a neighboring  monastery, 
buried  there  ages  before,  during  the  spoliation  following  on  the  Re- 
formation. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


133 


“ Didn’t  I tell  you  now,”  added  Shamus  with  a sagacious  and 
exulting  nod,  “ didn’t  I tell  you  the  gentleman  from  abroad 
wasn’t  so  mad  as  you  thought  in  regard  to  the  funeral  1 Take 
my  word  for  it,  Sir  Phelim,  he’s  as  sharp  and  as  cute  a man  as 
ever  stepped  in  shoe  leather.  He  never  does  anything  without 
knowing  wrell,  well  what  he’s  about.” 

“ I wish  he  was  in  Flanders  back  again!”  said  Sir  Phelim 
in  a petulant  tone,  which  made  his  foster-brother  laugh. 

“ He’s  not,  then,  nor  won't  be,  so  we  must  only  make,  the 
best  of  it,  and  not  be  fretting  about  what  can’t  be  helped.  But 
listen  hither,  chief!”  and  Shamus  drawing  near,  stood  up  on  his 
toes  (for  his  stature,  as  his  sobriquet  of  beg  implied,  was  some- 
what of  the  shortest)  to  whisper  in  Sir  Phelim's  ear : “ I’m 
afeard  they’ll  be  for  making  him  the  O’Neill !” 

“ They  dare  not !”  cried  the  chief  with  one  of  those  sudden 
fits  or  bursts  of  anger  to  which  be  was  subject ; “ they  dare  not, 
ingrates  as  they  are !” 

“ I tell  you  they  will  dare,  and  that  before  long !” 

“ By  the  shrine  of  Ardmacha  an’  they  do,  I will — I will — ” 

“ You  will — what  V’ 

“ Kill  all  before  me — I will,  by  the  holy  rood  !” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! that  sounds  well,  my  chief,”  said  the  privi- 
leged foster-brother,  and,  were  this  foreign  O’Neill  not  to  the  fore, 
you  might  get  the  better  of  them,  but  what  do  you  think  he  and 
all  the  others  would  be  doing  while  you’d  be  killing  ? No,  no, 
Sir  Phelim  dear,  think  better  of  it,  and  you  will  see  that  the 
only  way  for  you  to  hold  your  own  is  to  keep  cool  and  quiet — ■ 
as  quiet  as  a cat  watching  a mouse,  and  rub  people  down  as 
smoothly  as  Owen  Roe  does.  Humor  them  in  little  things,  and 
they’ll  give  you  your  own  way  in  great  things.” 

“ I’d  scorn  it,  Shamus,”  said  Sir  Phelim  vehemently ; “ I’d 
scorn  to  make  so  little  of  myself.  Even  to  keep  the  power 
and  the  name  I wouldn’t  do  it — I leave  such  tricks  to  this 
Spanish-Irish  cousin  of  mine.  But  in  the  matter  of  the  chief- 
tainship, I tell  you,  Shamus  O’Hagan,  that  I’d  sooner  they’d  cut 
off  this  right  arm  of  mine  than  give  him  that  title — him  a for- 
eigner and — a bastard !” 

Whisht,  whisht,  Sir  Phelim,  darling,”  said  Shamus  anxiously, 


134 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  in  a whisper;  “ for  the  love  of  God  don’t  say  the  like  of  that 
— they'll — they’ll — oh,  Mother  of  God  ! they’ll  do  everything — 
they’ll  have  your  life  !” 

“ My  life  !”  repeated  the  chief  scornfully  ; “ let  them  try  it — 
I should  like  to  see  them  ! — but  an’  they  did  seek  my  life,  in 
the  foulness  of  their  ingratitude,  they  might,  perchance,  have  it 
— but  the  title  of  O’Neill — the  headship  of  the  clan — never,  never, 
never — so  help  me  Heaven  and  this  strong  right  arm  ! — let  the 
spawn  of  a bastard  breed  look  to  it ! Low,  indeed,  were  the 
chieftainship  of  Tyr-Owen  fallen  when  it  rested  on  the  shoulders 
of  Owen  Mac  Art!” 

“ God  and  the  Kinel-Ovven  will  decide  that !’’ 

“Eh,  what7? — did  you  speak,  Shamus  V'  cried  Sir  Plielim 
with  a start. 

“ Is  it  I,  Sir  Plielim  1 — why,  no,  I didn’t — the  Lord  save  us !” 
and  Shamus  stood  with  open  mouth,  and  a comical  expression 
of  wonder  on  his  broad  face,  looking  hither  and  thither  and  all 
around,  but  no  human  being  save  themselves  two  was  visible  in 
the  close  paddock  where  Shamus  was  training  a promising  young 
colt  as  a war-steed  for  his  chief.  The  place  was  surrounded  by 
a high  stone  wall,  here  and  there  overhung  by  hawthorn  and 
elder  bushes,  and  Sir  Phelim  darted  off  in  one  direction  to  see 
whether  the  bushes  contained  an  eaves-dropper,  while  Shamus, 
letting  go  the  halter,  left  Brian  Boromhe  to  kick  up  his  heels 
and  enjoy  a canter  round  the  paddock,  while  he  scrambled  to 
the  top  of  the  wall  to  make  a survey  of  the  premises.  But  nor 
man  nor  woman,  beast  or  bird  was  discovered  by  either,  save 
only  a solitary  magpie  sitting  far  up  on  the  topmost  bough  of  a 
tall  beeeli-tree,  which  in  beauty  and  in  breadth  graced  a corner 
of  the  enclosure. 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  the  foster-brother,  as 
the  two  stood  together  again,  panting  and  sweating  after  their 
fruitless  chase,  “ if  I had  a gun  loaded  with  a piece  of  silver,  I’d 
shoot  that  devil  of  a mag,  for  I’d  almost  swear  it  was  it  that 
spoke,  and  you  know” — lowering  his  voice — “ the  witches  are 
as  plenty  as  blackberries  round  here.  I’ll  go  bail  now  if  one 
could  only  bring  dowrn  that  unlucky  bird,  it  would  turn  into  an 
ill-favored  old  hag.  There’s  plenty  of  them,  between  ourselves, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


135 


that  have  no  liking  for  your  four  hones,  God  forgive  them ! But 
think  no  more  about  it,  Sir  Phelim  dear ! just  watch  now  how 
beautifully  I’ll  bring  this  fellow  to  his  knees — when  he  gets  the 
word  you’ll  see  he’ll  pop  down  all  as  one  as  a Christian  !” 

“ You’ll  do  what  all  the  Danes  in  Ireland  weren’t  able  to  do, 
then,”  observed  Sir  Phelim,  with  an  attempt  at  pleasantry  all 
unusual  with  him. 

“What  is  that,  Sir  Phelim'?”  asked  honest  Shamus,  whose 
faculties  were  never  of  the  sharpest. 

“ Why,  you  say  you  can  bring  Brian  Boromhe  to  his  knee, 
and  that’s  more  than  they  could  do  with  all  the  power  they  had 
— but  there’s  Thorlogh  making  signs  to  me  from  the  gate — now 
look  to  it,  Shamus,  that  you  go  not  blabbing  amongst  the  neigh- 
bors in  regard  to  what  has  passed.” 

“ I’ll  make  no  promise  of  the  kind,”  said  Shamus  gruffly  as 
he  turned  away ; “I’d  thank  people  to  keep  their  advice  for 
them  that  needs  it.” 

But  Sir  Phelim  was  already  out  of  hearing,  and  Shamus  was 
alone  with  Brian  Boromhe  and  the  magpie,  who  indubitably 
kept  her  perch  for  no  good,  as  Shamus  thought,  and  her  perse- 
vering chatter  gave  him  no  little  annoyance,  as  might  be  seen 
by  the  uneasy  glances  which  he  threw  in  her  direction  from  time 
to  time,  muttering  to  himself  certain  objurgations  not  very 
complimentary  dither  to  magpies  or  old  women,  between  whom 
Shamus  had  established  a connection  in  his  own  mind,  based  on 
the  supposition  already  hinted  at. 

From  his  brother  Sir  Phelim  learned  that  a tumult  had  arisen 
amongst  the  soldiers  in  his  Castle  of  Dungannon  which  only  his 
own  presence  could  quell.  Carefully  keeping  the  secret  from 
Owen  Roe,  to  whose  arrival  he  at  once  attributed  this  commotion, 
the  impetuous  knight  set  out  in  a towering  passion  for  Dun- 
gannon, with  Shamus  and  some  score  or  two  of  his  followers. 

The  waning  moon  was  near  her  setting  and  the  dawn  close  at 
hand  when  the  trumpet  announced  the  chiefs  return  to  Charle- 
mont.  It  was  remarked  by  those  who  gave  him  admission  that 
there  was  a ghastly  paleness  on  his  usually  florid  countenance, 
and  a nervous  tremor  in  his  voice  and  manner,  all  of  which  led 
to  the  supposition  that  things  had  not  gone  well  with  the  sturdy 


136 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


kniglit  at  Dungannon.  On  questioning  his  attendants,  however, 
this  notion  was  found  erroneous,  for,  on  the  contrary,  Shamus 
and  his  fellows  gave  a most  satisfactory  account  of  their  lord’s 
demeanor — unusually  firm  and  self-possessed,  his  passion  at  the 
start  notwithstanding — and  of  the  little  trouble  he  had  had  in 
bringing  the  men  to  subjection.  What,  then,  must  have  caused 
the  unaccountable  change  in  Sir  Phelim’s  manner,  the  strange 
depression,  the  wild  restlessness  of  look  and  gesture  ? Many  a 
question  was  put  to  Shamus  on  the  subject,  but  Shamus  either 
knew,  or  affected  to  know  nothing  of  it. 

The  surprise  oi  the  garrison  was  at  its  height  when  it  became 
known  that  Sir  Phelim  ha  1 sent  messengers  out  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning  to  summon  the  clansmen  to  a meeting  within  the 
week  at  Tulloglioge,  on  a day  and  hour  specified,  to  transfer  the 
chief  power  of  the  sept  to  Owen  Roe  O’Neill.  The  latter  had 
hardly  completed  his  brief  soldierly  toilet  'when  he  was  invited 
to  walk  abroad  with  the  chief,  and  could  scarce  believe  his  ears 
when  Sir  Phelim,  with  that  grim  courtesy  which  he  well  knew 
how  to  assume  at  times,  addressed  him  in  this  wise  : 

“ I wish  to  inform  you,  General  O’Neill,  that  before  the  week 
is  out  you  may  expect  a change  here  of  some  importance — to  all 
of  us !” 

“ Of  what  nature,  may  I ask 

“Of  a nature,  General  Owen,  to  elevate  your  social  standing 
by  more  than  a cubit’s  length,  and  lower  mine  in  a like  mea- 
sure.” This  was  said  with  a bitterness  that  could  not  escape  the 
other’s  penetration.  He  probably  suspected  what  it  meant,  but 
chose  to  affect  ignorance. 

“ An’  you  favor  me  no;'.  with  some  further  enlightenment, 
cousin  mine,  I can  by  no  means  fathom  your  meaning.” 

“ I did  not  think  you  had  been  so  dull,  you  Spanish-Flemish- 
Irislimen.” 

“ Nay,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  Owen  somewhat  haughtily,  “ I came 
hither  at  your  request,  apparently  to  receive  some  intelligence 
at  your  hands,  an’  you  choose  to  keep  it  to  yourself,  do  so  in 
God’s  name,  but  spare  your  taunts — they  are  unworthy  a chief- 
tain and  a gentleman.” 

The  lofty  air  with  which  Owen  spoke  was  not  without  its  effect 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


137 


on  Sir  Phelim,  and  his  own  weaker,  although  more  blustering, 
nature  involuntarily  gave  way  before  it. 

“ When  you  are  called  upon,  General  O’Neill,”  he  said  in  a 
subdued  tone,  “ to  receive,  a few  days  hence,  the  highest  honor  in 
Clan  Owen’s  gift,  say  not  that  Phelim  O’Neill  kept  you  in  the 
dark  concerning  it !” 

Without  another  word  he  walked  away,  leaving  his  kinsman 
at  a loss  to  understand  what  powerful  agency  it  was,  that  had 
brought  him  to  such  a frame  of  mind. 

During  the  next  three  days  Owen  had  little  opportunity  of  ob- 
serving the  workings  of  his  kinsman’s  mind,  and  at  the  end  of 
that  time  half  a dozen  gentlemen  of  the  O’Neills  came  in  form  to 
the  Castle  to  announce  the  sovereign  will  of  the  Clan  Owen  in  re- 
gard to  this  new  and  stately  branch  of  the  family  tree.  He  was 
to  repair,  on  the  following  day  at  high  noon,  to  the  royal  rath  of 
Tulloghoge,  there  to  receive  the  insignia  of  power  and  the  hom- 
age of  the  sons  of  Nial.  Sir  Phelim,  too,  was  summoned,  but  he 
flatly  refused  to  go,  saying  that  he  washed  his  hands  of  them 
•and  their  affairs  from  that  day  out.  Tirlogh,  on  the  contrary, 
intimated  in  his  usual  gruff  way  his  intention  of  being  present. 

“ I’ll  break  your  neck  an’  you  do,”  cried  Phelim,  with  sudden 
passion,  and  he  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  him. 

“That  would  be  no  so  easy  matter,  rhelim,”  replied  the 
younger  brother  with  a grim  smile;  “ however,  an’  you  wish  me 
not  to  go,  then  go  I won’t,  for,  let  who  may  have  the  white  wand, 
you’ll  still  be  my  chief,  anyhow — interlopers  may  come  with 
their  treacherous  smiles  and  undermine  you  in  the  love  and 
affection  of  your  people,  but,  by  the  shield  of  Eoghan  More, 
there  shall  be  one  man  of  your  clan  who  will  never  bow  to  an- 
other O'Neill  while  the  pulse  beats  in  your  heart,  old  fellow  !” 

These  bursts  of  fraternal  affection  were  so  strong  on  the  part 
of  Tirlogh,  that  when  circumstances  brought  one  out,  all  present 
were  more  or  less  touched,  and  the  fierce  clansman  himself  was 
so  moved  on  the  present  occasion  that  he  aro^e,  kicked  his  seat 
out  of  the  way,  and  rushed  from  the  room,  leaving  Sir  Phelim 
with  a countenance  of  comical  distress,  as  though  he  could  hardly 
restrain  his  tears,  but  fain  would  appear  to  laugh,  and  treat  the 
matter  as  a joke.  Genuine,  unsophisticated  feeling  is  ever  sure 


138 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


to  command  respect,  and  notwithstanding  the  ludicrous  gestures 
of  the  rough  chieftain  in  trying  to  conceal  his  emotion  there  was 
not  one  of  the  spectators  disposed  to  laugh.  As  for  Owen  he 
arose  from  his  seat  with  a face  expressive  of  the  kindliest  feel- 
ing, and  crossing  the  floor  to  where  his  kinsman  sat,  he  grasped 
his  hand  in  silence.  Nor  was  honest  Phelim  insensible  to  this 
delicate  expression  of  sympathy,  for  he  returned  the  friendly 
pressure  and  with  a quivering  lip  articulated  some  words  of 
gratitude. 

At  last  the  hour  arrived  when  Owen  Roe  attired  for  the  occa- 
sion in  the  full  costume  of  a Celtic  chieftain,  such  as  we  saw 
him  wear  on  his  journey  from  the  coast,  but  that  now  the  Span- 
ish hat  was  replaced  by  the  national  barradh — was  conducted  by 
the  chief  men  of  the  clan  to  the  seat  of  royalty  on  the  rath 
of  Tulloghoge,  and  the  Kinel-Owen,  the  stout  gallowglass  and 
the  hardy  kern,  were  ranged  around  in  a vast  circle,  the  inner 
ring  of  which  was  composed  of  the  old  men  of  the  sept,  fathers 
in  their  generation.  Behind  and  on  either  side  the  newly-elect- 
ed chief,  were  grouped  the  various  chiefs  tributary  to  the  house 
of  Nial,  some  of  them,  however,  represented  by  their  proxies ; 
and  O’llanlon,  the  hereditary  marshal  of  the  Hy-Nial  princes, 
stepped  forth  and  placed  in  the  hand  of  Owen  the  w’hitewand  of 
power  and  laid  upon  his  shoulders  the  scarlet  cloak  of  royalty, 
and  the  princes  and  the  warriors  and  the  aged  men  bowed  down 
"before  him,  and  hailed  him  as  chief  of  the  Kinel-Owen.  Strange 
to  say,  amongst  the  chiefs  was  seen  Sir  Phelim  of  Kinard,  but 
he  bowed  not  with  the  rest,  nor  did  homage  at  all,  other  than 
by  advancing  when  the  ceremony  was  over  and  shaking  the  new 
chief  by  the  hand.  At  this  sight  a wild,  enthusiastic  cheer  burst 
from  the  multitude,  and  rang  through  the  grand  old  forest — that 
cheer  was  for  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  and  such  a cheer  had  his  name 
never  before  drawn  forth  even  in  the  hey-day  of  his  power.  It 
was  the  expression  of  popular  admiration  for  this  unexpected 
and  graceful  display  of  generosity.  Truly  it  was  marvellous,  all 
things  considered. 

Of  all  the  sons  of  the  Kinel-Owen  there  assembled,  not  one 
knew  the  secret  of  Sir  Phelim’s  abdication,  as  it  might  be  called. 
Shamus  Beg  was  the  only  mortal  to  whom  it  had  ever  been  re- 


TELE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


139 


vealed,  and  that  with  an  injunction  of  inviolable  secrecy.  Little 
did  any  of  the  clansmen  t^ink  that  it  was  the  Green  Lady  who 
had  wrought  the  wondrous  change  when,  on  his  moonlight  jour- 
ney from  Dungannon,  she  met  him  at  a cross-road  where  he 
stopped  to  await  his  followers  who  had  fallen  a little  behind,  and 
charged  him  in  her  deep  sepulchral  voice  to  resign  the  chief  power 
immediately  in  favor  of  Owen  Roe,  under  pain  of  the  most  fear- 
ful penalty. 


140 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

“ Shall  we  resign 

Our  hopes,  renounce  our  rights,  forget  our  wrongs, 

Because  an  impotent  lip  beneath  a crown 
Cries,  * Be  it  so  V ” 

Sir  A.  Hunt. 

“ All  thj|t  the  mind  would  shrink  from  of  excesses, 

All  that  the  body  perpetrates  of  bad, 

All  that  we  read,  hear,  dream,  of  man’s  distresses, 

All  that  the  devil  would  do,  if  run  staik  mad — 

Was  here  let  loose.” 

Byron’s  Don  Juan. 

Leaving  Owen  Roe  for  a brief  space  to  the  arduous  duties  of 
his  new  office,  and  the  great  work  of  organizing  such  an  army 
as  he  wished  to  have  out  of  the  raw  levies  sent  by  the  different 
chiefs,  we  will,  with  the  reader’s  good  leave,  take  a passing 
glance  at  the  ancient  City  of  the  Tribes,  the  grand  old  Queen  of 
the  West.  In  all  Ireland  there  was  neither  town  nor  city  which 
had  borne  more  or  done  more  for  the  national  cause  than  Gal- 
way of  the  Normans  during  the  short  time  which  had  elapsed 
since  her  brave  people  were  driven  into  open  rebellion.  What 
with  the  cold  temporizing  policy  of  their  powerful  neighbor 
Clanrickarde,  who  was  governor  of  the  city  and  county,  and  the 
ruthless  persecution  of  young  Willoughby,  the  commander  of  the 
fort,  the  tribes  of  Galway,  thoroughly  Catholic  as  i^y  were,  had 
no  easy  card  to  play.  The  insurrection  had  made  considerable 
progress  in  almost  every  other  part  of  the  kingdom  before  Gal- 
way raised  the  standard  of  revolt,  and  this  backwardness  was 
owing,  not  to  any  indifference  on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants,  or 
any  want  of  sympathy  with  their  brethren  in  other  parts,  but 
solely  because  of  the  wily  machinations  and  insidious  policy  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


141 


“ the  great  Earl,”  as  those  of  his  vicinity  were  wont  to  call  him. 
The  almost  canine  ferocity  of  Willoughby,  and  his  diabolical  ha- 
tred of  everything  Catholic,  rendered  him  the  scourge  of  the 
city,  and  placed  him  in  open  antagonism  with  the  people  even 
when  the  influence  of  Lord  Clanrickarde  maintained  a superficial 
peace.  But  fierce  passions  and  strong  prejudices  (not  to  speak 
of  righteous  desires  or  fixed  principles)  were  at  work  beneath 
the  upper  surface,  and  Galway  was,  as  Clanrickarde  well  knew, 
in  the  condition  of  a mine  which  needed  but  a match  to  blow  it 
into  combustion.  Every  few  days,  or  at  most,  every  few  weeks, 
little  explosions  were  taking  place  in  various  parts  of  the  city 
and  its  vicinity,  which,  though  amounting  to  little  in  themselves, 
were  quite  sufficient  to  alarm  the  ever-watchful  loyalty  of  Clan- 
rickarde. In  fact  that  nobleman  was  kept  in  a most  unenviable 
state  of  excitement,  ever  fearing,  and  with  reason,  a tremendous 
outbreak  on  the  part  of  the  citizens,  and  never  able  to  rely 
upon  Willoughby  who  only  kept  faith  with  Papists  for  just  so 
long  as  it  suited  his  purpose.  In  the  endless  difficulties  which 
arose  between  the  city  and  the  fort,  Clanrickarde  was  of  course 
the  umpire,  and  it  often  happened  that  he  was  hardly  settled 
within  the  strong  walls  of  Oranmore  or  Clare-Galway,*  after 
bringing  these  unmanageable  neighbors  to  terms,  when  presto  ! 
came  a message  from  the  city  complaining  of  some  new  insult 
on  the  part  of  the  governor,  or  vice  versa.  Now  it  was  that  the 
soldiers  in  the  fort  above  had  been  amusing  themselves  throwing 
shell  and  shot  into  the  city  to  the  great  danger  and  serious  de- 
triment of  the  citizens  ; St.  Nicholas’  Church,  or  St.  Francis’,  or 
St.  Augustine’s  had  been  grievously  injured  by  the  wanton  fire 
from  the  fort,  or  perchance  some  of  the  wives  or  daughters  of 
the  townsmen  had  been  kidnapped  and  otherwise  ill-treated  by 
the  soldiers.  Again  it  was  Willoughby  who  lodged  the  complaint 
that  the  turbulent  townsmen  had  cut  off  his  supplies  and  .refused 
to  let  his  men  pass  through  their  limits.  Sorely  puzzled  was 
Uiick  Burke,  with  all  his  skill  in  strategy,  to  preserve  even  a 

* Two  of  the  principal  fortresses  of  the  De  Burgos.  Oranmore  is 
situate  ou  a peninsula,  or  rather  promontory,  stretching  far  out  into  the 
beautiful  bay  of  Galway. 


142 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


show  of  peace  between  such  refractory  neighbors,  and  there  were 
times  when  he  was  strongly  tempted  to  throw  up  his  office  in 
disgust.  But,  alas  ! who  then  would  keep  the  sturdy  Galway  men 
to  their  good  behavior,  and  with  bit  and  bridle  bind  their  jaws 
for  the  safety  of  the  king’s  lieges  ? Who  but  he  could  in  any 
way  control  them,  and  in  case  he  withdrew  from  his  onerous  post 
what  was  to  keep  them  from  joining  the  rebels  ? So  reasoned 
Ulick  Burke,  and  with  the  spirit  of  a martyr  he  resolved  to  bear 
all  things  rather  than  yield  such  a triumph  to  the  enemy.  So 
long  as  Willoughby  had  the  best  of  the  quarrel,  and  that  they 
could,  between  them,  keep  the  bold  spirit  of  the  townspeople 
within  bounds,  all  was  well,  but  the  bare  possibility  of  seeing  the 
Confederate  colors  flying  from  the  high  places  of  the  old  town 
was  gall  and  wormwood  to  “ the  white-livered  De  Burgo,”  as  his 
fellow-Catholics  were  wont  to  style  him.  Not  his  the  heart  to 
glory  in  the  noble  spirit  oozing  out  day  by  day  from  the  pores  of 
the  fair  city,  the  patriotism  which  not  all  his  power,  backed  by 
the  tyranny  of  Willoughby,  could  entirely  repress,  and  the  chi- 
valrous deeds  achieved  within  and  about  the  city  for  the  sacred 
cause  of  liberty  and  religion.  With  Clanrickarde,  the  gallant 
band  of  young  men  who  boarded  and  captured  that  English  ship 
in  Galway  Bay  to  the  great  advantage  of  their  party  were  noth  ■ 
ing  better  than  marauders,  the  O'Flaherties,  and  the  Condons,  and 
many  another  warlike  sept  who  were  up  in  arms  for  God  and 
the  right  were  “pestilent  rebels”  well  worth  a hempen  coid 
every  man  of  them.  Oh  ! Ulick  Burke  ! great  wert  thou  and 
esteemed  wise  of  men  in  thy  generation,  yet  fool  that  thou  wert, 
in  thy  mistaken  loyalty,  thou  didst  lick  the  hand  that  smote  thee, 
and  fawn  on  those  who  thirsted  for  the  blood  of  thy  best  and 
truest  friends,  the  priests  and  prelates  of  that  Church  which  thou 
didst  wrongfully  call  mother ! Ulick  Burke  of  Clanrickarde  ! a 
fearful  load  hast  thou  on  thy  soul  against  the  great  day  of  reck- 
oning, oh  thou  ! who  might  have  done  much  to  succor  those  who 
struggled  to  the  death  against  oppression  and  intolerance,  but 
instead  thereof  didst  lend  thy  powerful  aid  to  the  tyrant  and  the 
persecutor  ! The  Church,  thy  poor  outraged  suffering  mother, 
judged  thee  in  thy  day,  and  Christ  her  spouse  judged  thee  beyond 
the  grave  according  to  thy  deserts,  let  us  then  spare  our  indig- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


143 


cation,  and  endeavor  to  write  and  read  thine  acts  with  pa-tience. 
Pity  we  may  not  afford  to  such  a man  for  he  chose  his  path  with 
his  eyes  open  and  walked  his  tortuous  way  regardless  alike  of 
admonition,  threat  or  censure,  ay  ! even  the  dread  censures  of 
the  Church ! 

On  a certain  night  about  the  end  of  July  of  that  year  of  1642, 
a stranger  of  noble  presence  arrived  at  the  Castle  of  Oranmore 
in  the  questionable  disguise  of  a boatman  from  the  Claddagh 
shore  opposite.  Some  half  dozen  of  those  brave  fellows  had 
ferried  him  over,  and  woe  betide  the  “ covenanting  carl”  who 
dared  to  question  the  identity  of  any  one  in  their  company.  For- 
tunately, however,  none  such  were  to  be  found  in  that  vicinity, 
and  Clanrickarde’s  followers  were  too  well  accustomed  to  the 
unceremonious  visits  of  the  Claddagh  men  to  refuse  free  ingress 
to  any  of  their  number.  Assuming  th§  rough  and  somewhat 
discourteous  manner  of  the  fishermen,  the  stranger  in  question 
told  his  comrades  to  remain  in  the  courtyard  “ till  he’d  give  his 
message  to  the  great  Earla." 

“ By  the  shield  of  Clanrickarde !”  said  a burly  Connemara 
man,  who,  with  a score  or  so  others  of  the  Earl’s  retainers,  was 
lounging  about  the  courtyard,  “ by  the  shield  of  Clanrickarde, 
boys,  that  comrade  of  yours  is  more  of  a land-lubber  than  I ever 
thought  to  see  a Claddagh  man.  I wouldn’t  give  a traneen  for 
all  the  fish  he  ever  took.” 

“ Husht!”  said  another,  “maybe  it’s  the  admiral  he’d  be!” 

“ You're  no  conjurer  anyhow,”  observed  one  of  the  fishermen 

“ Why  not,  ma  bouchal  V'  laughed  the  good-humored  moun- 
taineer. 

“ Why,  because  if  you  were,  you’d  never  make  such  a guess 
as  that.  Our  admiral’s  face  tells  its  own  story  wherever  he 
goes,  and  with  God’s  help  he'll  never  be  taken  for  a land-lubber. 
No,  no” — and  approaching  closer  to  the  group  of  soldiers,  he. 
lowered  his  voice  almost  to  a whisper — “ there’s  one  in  his  coat,” 
pointing  over  his  shoulder  to  the  door  by  which  the  strange* 
had  entered  the  Castle,  “ that’s  far  above  the  admiral.” 

Sundry  exclamations  of  surprise  followed  this  speech.  “What! 
above  the  admiral !”  .cried  the  man  who  had  first  spoken,  “ and 
a Claddagh  boy  says  it  V* 


144 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ He  must  be  a priest,”  observed  a wiseacre,  whose  word  was 
law  amongst  his  comrades. 

“ Higher  than  that,”  the  fisherman  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

“ Good  Lord ! can  he  be  a bishop 

“ Have  a care  what  you  say,  Evven!”  whispered  one  of  his 
comrades  to  him  who  had  last  spoken. 

“Never  mind,”  cried  several  of  the  others,  “if  there’s  a place 
in  Ireland’s  ground  these  evil  days  where  that  name  is  sacred, 
it  is  here— here" — aud  he  stamped  his  foot  on  the  old  pavement ; 
“ the  De  Burgo  may  join  hands  with  the  bloody  sassum  an’  it 
lists  him,  but  those  who  follow  his  banner  have  a spirit  above 
such  meanness,  as  he  may  find  some  day  to  his  cost !” 

“ Well  said,  Terence,”  responded  a gigantic  halberdier  from 
Joyce’s  country;  “so  long  as  we’re  only  teaching  manners  to 
the  proud  Normans  of  the  town  abroad  Phil  Joyce  is  both  ready 
and  willing,  for  God  sees  we  owe  them  many  a grudge — but  when 
it  comes  to  pointing  as  much  as  a finger  at  the  Catholic  army, 
God’s  blessing  be  with  it ! oh ! faith,  I’d  as  soon  turn  on  the  old 
mother  at  home — I’m  thinking  it’s  backwards  our  arms  would 
work — a wow !” 

“ An’  he  be  a bishop,”  said  one  of  the  soldiers,  “ you’ve  a right 
to  let  us  know,  Shan !”  addressing  one  of  the  boatmen,  “ for 
sure  you  know  well  enough  it’s  not  often  we  have  the  chance  of 
seeing  one  here — that  is,  of  late  days,  since  Ulick  More  began 
his  colloguing  with  the  devil’s  chickens !” 

“ Sure  we  knew  you’d  be  overjoyed  to  hear  it,”  the  Claddagh 

man  made  answer,  “ an’  that  he'd  be  as  safe  among  you  as ” 

“ As  he’d  be  in  the  Claddagh,  Shan,”  put  in'  the  tall  Joyce 
countryman,  “ an’  that’s  as  much  as  I could  say.” 

Meanwhile  an  interview  of  a far  different  kind  was  going  on 
within  the  Castle.  In  a circular  chamber  occupying  the  second 
floor  «*f  one  of  the  turrets,  Clanrickarde  stood  with  reverent  mien 
in  the  presence  of  that  mysterious  boatman  who  occupied  a seat 
near  the  centre  of  the  room.  It  was  strange  to  see  the  haughty 
Palatine  in  scarlet  doublet  and  silken  hose,  bowing  down  before 
the  wild-looking  fisherman  in  the  brown  linsey-woolsey  tunic 
and  truis  of  the  same  rude  texture,  as  the  latter  raised  his  hand 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


145 


with  a menacing  air  and  knit  his  shaggy  brows  till  the  fiery  orbs 
they  shaded  were  only  visible  by  their  light. 

“Curse  me  not,  good  my  lord!”  said  De  Burgo  soothingly; 
“ bethink  thee  enough  of  that  hath  been  done  ere  now  !” 

“ I would  curse  the  father  who  begot  me,  did  he  stand  in  thy 
shoes,  Ulick  Burke,”  the  visitor  replied  with  stern  emphasis, 
rising  to  his  feet  at  the  same  time ; “ yea,  were  that  father 
whom  I loved  and  honored  to  play  into  the  hands  of  God’s 
enemies  as  thou  dost,  and  lend  them  help  to  trample  down  still 
lower  those  of  his  own  faith,  nay,  to  crush  them  as  vile  worms, 
I would  hold  him  as  an  enemy,  and  avoid  speech  of  him  as  I 
will  henceforth  do  in  regard  to  thee — an’  there  come  not  a change 
in  thy  words  and  a.tions  !” 

“ That  may  never  be,  then,  my  Lord  Archbishop,”  said  Clan- 
rickarde  proudly ; “no  power  on  earth  could  draw  me  aside  from 

the  allegiance  due  to  my  lawful  prince ” 

“Fool!  fool!”  cried  the  excited  prelate,  “what  of  the  alle- 
giance thou  owest  to  God — the  King  of  kings  V' 

“ I serve  Him  when  I serve  the  ruler  He  hath  placed  over  me,” 
Clanrickarde  replied  coldly. 

“ But  who  is  to  judge  how  that  matter  stands  'l  Tell  me,  Lord 
of  Clanrickarde,  is  it  not  the  spiritual  rulers  of  God’s  people — 

the  ministers  of  fts  altars — the  expounders  of  His  will  1 ” 

“ I know  not  that — in  this  case.” 

“ I tell  thee,  my  lord  earl,  it  is  so  in  every  case — ay,  marry, 
and  thou  knowest  it,  too  ! — woe — woe  unspeakable  to  the  man 
who,  professing  the  Catholic  faith,  wilfully  closes  his  ears  to  the 
counsels  and  admonitions  of  the  Church ! But  time  is  precious 
and  other  duties  call  me  hence ! W e may  meet  no  more  on 
earth,  Earl  of  Clanrickarde,  but  I would  not  willingly  give  thee 
up  as  lost — thou  on  whom  we  so  much  relied — thou  who  hast 
the  power  to  lend  a hand  to  thy  oppressed  fellow-Catholics — say, 
oh  say,  wilt  thou  not  aid  us  in  our  struggle  for  liberty — for 
liberty,  nay  ! for  life — wilt  thou  not,  oh  chief  of  the  Clan  Rick- 
ard7?— 'nay,  nay,  thou  wilt  not  refuse  a prince  of  the  Church 
suing  to  thee  thus  lowly  on  behalf  of  an  oppressed  people — nay, 
nay,  thou  canst  not !”  And  seizing  both  the  Earl’s  hands  the 
prelate  leaned  forward  and  peered  with  his  keen  dark  eyes  into 
17 


146 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  half-averted  face  of  De  Burgo,  as  though  seeking  to  read 
the  answer  there. 

Coldly,  and  with  little  or  no  emotion,  Clanrickarde  made  answer : 
“ I have  sworn  allegiance  to  King  Charles,  and  while  breath  is 
in  my  body  I mean  to  keep  it  inviolate.  I pray  you,  good  my 
lord,  trouble  me  no  more,  but  take  this  as  my  final  answer.” 

“ And  thou  still  persistest  in  keeping  aloof  from  our  Confedera- 
tion, and  taking  counsel  of  our  enemies  V ’ 

“ I do,  so  help  me  God ! and  in  my  poor  judgment  even  your 
grace  might  do  well  to  follow  my  example.  It  ill  becometh  the 
prelates  or  pastors  of  the  Church  to  preach  rebellion  !” 

“ Silence,  man  !”  said  the  prelate  suddenly,  and  with  such 
vehemence  that  Clanrickarde  started  and  drew  back  a pace ; 
“ silence,  I say  ! dare  not  to  utter  such  words  in  my  presence  ! — 
traitor  to  God  and  His  holy  Church,  faithless,  cold-blooded,  time- 
serving Christian,  dare  not  to  dictate  to  the  hierarchy  of  this 
martyr-nation.  I tell  thee,  proud  minion  of  a deceitful  prince, 
friend  and  ally  of  the  murderer  Willoughby,  that  the  rudest 
kerne  who  follows  the  standard  of  the  Catholic  army  is  worth  a 
thousand  such  as  thee  for  all  thy  pompous  titles,  and  the  God 
whom  he  serves,  and  for  whom  he  sheds  his  blood,  will  exalt 
him  in  the  latter  day,  when  thou  shalt  be  like^Judas  ‘ in  thy  ap- 
pointed place.’  I say  not  where  that  place  will  be — it  is  for 
thee  to  look  to  it.  Fare  thee  well,  lord,  when  next  we  meet  it 
may  be  on  the  field  of  battle— — ” 

“ Good  Heavens,  your  grace  cannot  mean  that  you  would  per- 
sonally take  up  arms  V’  cried  Clanrickarde  following  to  the  door. 

“ That  do  I mean  and  nought  else.  When  such  as  thou  ae- 
sertest  thy  rightful  post,  even  such  as  I must  advance  into  the 
gap.  Pray  Heaven  it  be  my  lot  to  fall  in  a cause  so  holy  and  so 
j ust — but,  alas  ! I am  not  worthy  of  the  martyr’s  crown — poor, 
frail,  sinful  man  that  I am  !” 

Mastering  himself  with  that  facility  which  grew  out  of  long 
habit,  Clanrickarde  hastened  after  the  prelate,  praying  him  to 
partake  of  some  refreshment. 

“ Not  a mouthful,”  he  replied,  “ not  a mouthful  of  meat  or 
drink  that  belongs  to  thee  shall  ever  cross  my  lips — no,  no ; I 
will  sup  at  the  Clad  lagh  on  fish  and  oaten  cake  with  a draught 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


147 


of  water — thy  wines  and  viands  were  poison  to  me — and,  more- 
over, Ulick  ! no  Christian  may  eat  or  drink  within  thy  walls  from 
this  time  forward — by  a statute  of  the  Council  of  Kilkenny,  as 
thou  knowest,  any  one  aiding  or  abetting  the  enemy  doth  by 
his  own  act  incur  the  penalty  of  excommunication.  Mayhap 
thou  knowest  not  that  V’  he  added  with  bitter  irony. 

“ I knew  it,”  the  Earl  replied,  “and  am  much  surprised  at 
the  uncharitable  rashness  of  those  who  deal  so  freely  in  anethe- 

mas — shining  lights  they  are  truly  ! ” 

“ May  God  enlighten  your  eyes,  anyhow,”  said  the  Archbishop 
as  he  stepped  into  the  court  and  beckoned  to  his  trusty  CJad- 
dagh  men — “ blinder  art  thou  than  the  bat  that  wings  his  cir- 
cling flight  at  eve  around  these  towers  !” 

“ God  help  me  !”  muttered  the  Earl  to  himself  as  he  saw  his 
men  bowing  down  on  either  side  to  crave  the  blessing  which 
the  good  prelate,  seeing  himself  discovered,  was  not  slow 
in  bestowing ; “ God  help  me,  even  mine  own  retainers  have 
little  heart  for  the  service  put  upon  them  in  these  evil  times. 
See  how  reverently  they  bow  to  that  seditious  prelate — a plague 
on  them  for  sea-bears  that  brought  him  thither,  they  must  be 
pretty  sure  of  these  fellows  of  mine  when  they  let  them  so  easily 
into  the  secret — still  I know  not  but  it  may  be  as  well.  Oh  ! that 
I could  weed  such  noxious  plants  out  of  our  hierarchy,  then 
would  the  flame  of  rebellion  soon  die  out  in  the  land !” 

Of  this  there  was  little  likelihood  so  long  as  the  agents  of  the 
turbulent  and  intolerant  English  Parliament  were  sent  in  the 
king’s  name  into  Ireland  with  ample  powers  to  do  what  mischief 
they  could,  in  short  to  kill  and  destroy  indiscriminately  not  only 
all  that  bore  the  name  of  Irish,  but  such  of  the  English  as  did 
not  immediately  attach  themselves  to  them.  In  accordance  with 
the  policy  carried  out  by  the  Lords  Justices  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, all  manner  of  cruelty  and  injustice  was  exercised  towards 
the  people  of  the  country,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  foment- 
ing a rebellion  so  lucrative  to  those  righteous  rulers.  Thus 
Monroe,  Stewart,  Montgomery,  and  their  confreres  in  the  north, 
Coote  and  Inchiquin,  Cork  and  Broghill  in  the  other  provinces, 
and,  though  last  not  least,  Willoughby  in  Galway,  carried  on  the 
war  in  the  true  "Spirit  of  extermination,  sparing  neither  age,  sex, 


148 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  ' 


nor  condition.  Now  tlie  sole  object  Clanrickarde  had  in  view 
was  what  he  called  “ putting  down  the  rebellion  and  restoring 
peace  to  the  country.”  and  in  this  he  was  foiled  at  every  turn 
by  the  (to  him)  unaccountable  aggressions  of  Willoughby.  No 
sooner  had  he,  with  infinite  trouble,  patched  up  some  venomous 
quarrel  between  Willoughby  and  the  incensed  Catholics,  than 
the  former,  without  any  known  reason,  issued  out  upon  the  adja- 
cent country,  robbing  and  murdering  all  before  him,  and  spread- 
ing ruin  and  desolation  wherever  he  went,  or,  perchance,  on  the 
most  trivial  pretext,  discharging  fire  and  shot  into  the  town 
below,  sometimes  for  a whole  day  without  intermission,  until 
the  burghers  were  roused  to  fury  and  ready  to  risk  all  in  an 
attack  on  the  fort.  News  of  these  things  reaching  the  Earl  at 
Oranmore  (for  he  was  fain  to  keep  near  the  city),  post  haste 
he  went  to  accommodate  matters  once  again,  cursing  in  his 
heart  the  brutal  ally  whom  the  fates  had  given  him  in  his  gov- 
ernment, and  Willoughby,  in  return,  hated  Clanrickarde  as  he 
bated  all  who  bore  the  name  of  Catholic,  and  slily  laughed  in 
his  sleeve  at  the  notion  of  the  great  De  Burgo  being  his  hench- 
man to  command,  and  a right  useful  tool  for  all  purposes.  Not 
content,  however,  with  thwarting  the  wily  statesman  in  his 
pacific  endeavors,  good  Captain  Willoughby  sent  off  a secret 
dispatch  to  the  Parliament  in  London  to  have  an  auxiliary  sent 
him  on  whose  aid  he  knew  he  could  well  rely  in  forcing  the 
“ over-patient  asses  of  Galway  to  gallop  off  into  open  rebellion, 
the  which  would  better  agree  with  the  malice  of  their  hearts 
than  this  sneaking  hang-dog  pace  at  which  they  were  kept, 
forsooth,  by  Clanrickarde’s  bridle.” 

With  this  laudable  intent,  then,  Willoughby’s  “ familiar”  sum- 
moned came,  in  the  person  of  an  English  admiral,  Lord  Forbes 
by  name,  with  an  entire  fleet  at  his  command.  Early  in  the 
month  of  August  the  good  people  of  Galway  town,  the  bay 
shores  and  the  islands  were  astounded  by  this  unlooked-for  and 
most  unwelcome  apparition,  and  none  more  so  than  Lord  Clan- 
rickarde, who  felt  hurt  and  offended  that  such  a step  had  been 
taken  without  consulting  him  as  governor  of  the  county.  He 
immediately  sent  to  ascertain  the  admiral’s  intentions  and  re- 
ceived such  an  answer  as  made  him  more  incensed  than  ever ; 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


149 


in  fact,  plainly  intimating  that  he,  as  a Papist,  had  no  right  to 
put  such  questions,  and  that  he  should  learn,  perchance,  sooner 
than  was  pleasing  what  brought  him  there. 

The  gentle  measures  employed  by  this  new  agent  to  bring 
the  Galway  burghers  to  a proper  state  of  subjection  may  be 
found  in  the  next  chapter. 


150 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Where,  where,  for  shelter  shall  the  guilty  fly, 

When  consternation  turns  the  good  man  pale  V* 

Young’s  Night  Thoughts . 


“ He  saw — and,  maddening  at  the  sight, 

Gave  his  bold  bosom  to  the  fight ; 

To  tiger  rage  his  soul  was  driven  ; 

* * * * * 

The  pale  man  from  his  land  must  fly^ 

He  would  be  free— or  he  would  die.” 

It  was  the  seventh  day  of  August  when  Lord  Forbes  with 
his  squadron  made  his  appearance  in  Galway  Bay  to  the  great 
satisfaction  of  Willoughby  and  his  Puritan  garrison  in  the  fort, 
with  whom  he  immediately  exchanged  signals.  The  terror  and 
consternation  with  which  the  people  bordering  on  the  coast 
beheld  the  approach  of  this  English  fleet  were  but  too  well 
grounded,  as  the  result  showed.  Without  the  slightest  provo- 
cation of  any  kind,  or  any  hostile  demonstration  whatsoever,  the 
admiral  dispatched  a number  of  boats  to  the  Clare  coast  filled 
with  armed  men,  who,  landing,  burned  and  destroyed  several 
villages,  slaying  the  defenceless  inhabitants  without  mercy 
wherever  they  came  in  their  way. 

This  sort  of  exercise,  although,  doubtless,  very  pleasing  to  the 
ruthless  strangers,  and  productive  of  much  amusement  to  the  garri- 
son of  the  fort  as  they  watched  the  work  of  destruction  from 
their  elevated  po  t,  was  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of  the  natives, 
who,  Irish  and  Papists  as  they  wrere,  had  no  fancy  for  such  en- 
tertainments got  up  at  the  expense  of  their  lives  and  properties. 
Even  Lord  Clanrickarde  was  not  over  well  pleased  wrhen  mes- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


151 


senger  after  messenger  arrived  at  the  Castle  in  quick  succession 
with  news  of  the  devastation  going  on.  There  was  one  little 
reason  that  made  the  great  and  wise  Ulick  peculiarly  averse  to 
Forbes’s  mode  of  pacification,  and  that  was  that  the  villages 
destroyed,  and,  indeed,  most  of  the  country  thus  laid  waste,  be- 
longed, as  it  happened,  to  himself.  In  a state  of  commotion 
very  unusual  with  him  he  ordered  out  a yacht  and  proceeded  in 
all  haste  to  visit  the  admiral,  supposing  that  half  a d®zen  word  s 
of  advice  from  him  would  be  amply  sufficient.  Great  was  his 
surprise,  and  greater  still  his  indignation  when  Forbes  cut  his 
dignified  remonstrance  very  short,  with  a rough  assurance  that 
the  work  he  complained  of  was  but  beginning,  for  that,  “ with 
God’s  good  aid,  it  was  his  intention,  as  it  was  also  his  instruc- 
tions. to  slay  as  many  of  the  children  of  wrath  and  perdition  as 
avenging  justice  sent  in  his  way.” 

“ Is  Lord  Forbes  aware  that  I am  a Catholic  7”  demanded 
the  Earl  sternly. 

“I  have  heard  as  much,”  replied  the  ungracious  admiral  with 
something  like  a smile  on  his  vinegar  face.  “ I will  give  you  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt  arising  from  your  well-known  loyalty — I will 
judge  you  by  your  acts  rather  than  your  profession — and  do, 
therefore,  consider  you  as  entitled  to  certain  immunities.” 

“ Immunities  ! what  immunities,  I pray  your  lordship  V ’ 

“ Why,  immunity  from  detention,  for  instance,”  replied  the 
Scotch  lord  with  the  same  sinister  smile  as  before ; “ think 
you  I would  suffer  an  undoubted  Papist — any  other,  in  fact,  but 
my  Lord  Clanrickarde” — and  he  bowed  with  ironical  respect — 
“ to  quit  this  ship — alive  7” 

“ My  Lord  Forbes !”  said  the  Earl  haughtily,  “ an’  such  be 
your  manner  of  jesting  I like  it  not,  nor  do  I deem  it  becoming 
in  your  circumstances.  An’  you  knew  it  not  before,  or  other- 
wise are  oblivious  of  the  fact,  I would  remind  you  that  I am 
ruler  in  these  parts,  appointed  by  the  king’s  majesty.” 

“ And  I would  remind  you,  my  Lord  of  Clanrickarde,”  repl'ed 
the  caustic  Admiral,  “ that  I am  ruler  in  these  waters — for  so 
long  as  it  listeth  me  to  remain — holding  from  a higher  power 
still ” 

“ I pray  your  lordship  to  explain  that  latter  phrase,”  said  the 


152 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


self-possessed  Clanrickarde;  “ I know  of  no  higher  power  in  this 
realm  than  that  which  I have  named — to  wit,  Charles,  King  of 
England, *’  and  he  reverently  raised  his  plumed  hat  from  off  his 
brow. 

“ I hold  from  the  Parliament  of  England,”  Forbes  returned 
with  an  ironical  smile  at  the  graceful  gesture  which  at  once 
expressed  the  other's  loyalty  and  his  high  court  breeding. 

“ You  shall  answer  for  this,  my  Lord  Forbes,”  said  Clanrickarde 
angrily  ; “ such  an  insinuation  as  your  words  convey  no  subject 
of  King  Charles  may  or  ought  to  hear.” 

“ Better  the  Parliament  surely  than  the  Pope,”  retorted  the 
Scotchman,  bitterly. 

‘ I came  not  here  to  bandy  words,”  said  the  Earl  coldly,  “ but 
rather  to  give  you  an  advice  which  you  will  do  well  to  follow. 
In  case  you  persist  in  your  insane  course,  I wish  you  to  un- 
derstand that  you  do  it  at  a risk,  seeing  that  the  people  of  these 
parts  are  now  peaceably  inclined  and  disposed  to  live  as  good 
and  loyal  subjects,  forgetful  of  all  that  hath  been  done  to  them 
by  Captain  Willoughby  and  his  men  here  of  late ; this  is  owing, 
I tell  you  plainly,  to  my  humble  endeavors,  the  which  hath  cost 
me  infinite  trouble  and  much  cost — an’  you  now,  with  the  aid  of 
Master  Willoughby,  disturb  this  so  happy  state  of  things  by  pro- 
voking the  king’s  lieges  to  break  the  peace,  I say,  you  will  bo 
responsible  for  all  the  consequences — are  you  willing  to  run  this 
risk  r 

“ I will  do  as  I please,”  replied  Forbes  very  shortly  ; “ I know 
the  work  before  me  and  I will  do  it,  with  Heaven’s  aid.  What 
ho  ! there, my  Lord  of  Clanrickarde’s  yacht! — I pray  your  lord- 
ship  to  excuse  me,”  he  said  with  mock  courtesy,  “ but  your  visit 
hath  already  outstript  your  welcome.” 

“ Suffer  him  not  to  depart,”  said  a harsh,  stern  voice  from 
behind  the  admiral;  “accursed  be  thou  an’  thou  sparest  even 
one  of  these  Ammonites — smite  him,  Henry  Forbes  ! ay,  even 
with  the  edge  of  the  sword !”  And  the  speaker  advancing, 
broke  upon  the  astonished  vision  of  Clanrickarde  in  the  guise  of 
a Puritan  preacher,  fierce,  wild,  gaunt,  and  enthusiastic,  with 
a fire  something  akin  to  insanity  gleaming  or  rather  shooting 
from  his  large,  angular-shaped  eyes. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


153 


“Softly,  softly,  Mr.  Peters,”  said  Forbes  in  the  most  persua- 
sive tone  he  knew  how  to  assume,  and  he  placed  his  hand  before 
his  strange  chaplain  to  bar  his  farther  progress  in  the  direction 
of  the  Papist  lord, — “ softly,”  he  repeated,  lowering  his  voice  to 
a whisper,  “ it  were  unsafe  to  harm  him.  An’  thou  lovest  me, 
keep  thy  mouth  closed  till  he  be  out  of  hearing.  Nay,  I will 
have  it  so — I will  explain  when  he  is  gone  hence.” 

Lord  Clanrickarde  could  not  catch  the  words,  but  he  guessed 
their  import,  and  it  amused  him  no  little  to  see  the  rampant 
fanaticism  of  Peters  so  far  outstripping  the  wily  caution  of  his 
no  less  intolerant  patron.  As  he  descended  the  ship’s  side,  he 
heard  the  chaplain  pronounce  a stern  anathema  on  the  sinful 
“ compliance,”  as  he  phrased  it,  of  the  Admiral. 

“ A heavy  judgment  will  fall  upon  thee,  Henry  Forbes,”  said 
the  meek  Christian  minister,  “ for  as  much  as  thou  couldst  have 
cut  off  one  of  the  heads  of  this  monster,  even  Popery,  and  did 
not, — yea,  when  he  was  delivered  unto  thee,  this  double-faced 
minion,  that  thou  mightest  execute  judgment  upon  him — in  that 
thou  didst  not  smite  him  with  the  edge  of  the  sword,  I say  unto 
thee  thou  hast  sinned  grievously,  and  incurred  the  sentence  of 
wrath  ! So,  he  goeth  hence  in  his  pride,  that  man  of  evil  ways, 
goeth  hence  to  do  the  will  of  the  tyrant  Charles  Stuart — yea, 
verily,  he  laughs — laughs  at  thy  wicked  compliance  to  the 
enemy — avaunt,  servant  of  the  evil  one” — and  he  shook  his 
clenched  fist  at  the  Earl  now  speeding  over  the  water  in  his 
graceful  little  bark — “ I spit  upon  thee,”  he  called  out  in  a still 
louder  voice,  “ and  will  bear  testimony  against  thee  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  body  as  a whited  sepulchre  full  of  all  unclean- 
ness. Avaunt,  son  of  the  scarlet  woman  who  sitteth  on  the  seven 
hills !” 

Clanrickarde  only  smiled  at  this  rhapsody,  the  more  so  as  he 
saw  Forbes  endeavoring,  with  ail  his  might,  to  keep  the  furious 
preacher  within  some  bounds  of  decency,  but  the  threatening 
gestures  of  the  man  did  not  escape  the  keen  eyes  of  the  Earl’s 
retainers  in  the  boat,  and  their  indignation  was  so  strongly  ex- 
cited, that  it  required  the  positive  commands  of  their  lord  to 
keep  them  from  shooting  him. 

“Not  so, friends,”  said  the  politic  Earl,  “not  so — I hold  the 


154 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


man  as  of  unsound  mind,  and  esteem  him  more  an  object  of  pity 
than  of  anger.  Lower  your  muskets,  I charge  ye !” 

It  was  not  without  reluctance  that  the  Connaught  men  obeyed, 
but  when  de  Burgo  declared  his  will  it  was  not  to  be  disputed, 
with  impunity,  and  so  the  rabid  chaplain  of  the  fleet  escaped  for 
that  time. 

Whether  the  Earl’s  surmise  as  to  Peters’  saneness  of  mind 
was  correct  or  not,  that  worthy  had  so  fast  a hold  on  the  under- 
standing of  his  patron  that  in  most  cases  he  moulded  him  to 
his  own  purposes.  Hence  it  was,  and  under  such  guidance, 
that  the  good  citizens  of  Galway  and  the  people  of  the  adjoin- 
ing country  were  hunted  to  death  as  enemies,  nay,  rather  as 
outlaws,  by  the  horde  of  merciless  fanatics  who  manned  the 
fleet,  men  to  whose  breasts  compassion  was  a stranger,  and 
charity  a word  unknown.  Willoughby  and  his  garrison  troopers 
were  a scourge  to  the  old  city,  but  Forbes  and  his  Scotch  fanatics 
were  as  fiends  incarnate,  inventing  in  their  monstrous  cruelty 
and  detestation  of  the  Irish  such  works  of  horror  as  make  the 
flesh  creep  on  one’s  bones  to  think  of. 

Who  can  imagine  the  horror  and  dismay  of  the  Catholic  peo- 
ple of  Galway  when  news  came  into  the  city  that  St.  Mary’s 
Church,  situate  in  the  west  suburbs,*  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Puritans.  From  its  peculiar  situation,  on  the  crown  of  a hill 
sloping  downwards  to  the  bay,  and  commanding  the  whole  of 
the  west  suburbs,  with  a portion  of  the  city  proper,  this  edifice 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  Scotch  admiral,  who,  perceiving  at  a 
glance  its  importance  as  a military  post,  without  loss  of  time 
threw  a garrison  into  it,  and  mounting  his  guns  on  every  avail- 
able point,  opened  a cannonade  on  the  city.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, as  though  they  acted  in  full  concert,  the  cannon  from  the 
fort  raked  the  streets  of  the  devoted  city,  whose  people  were 
guilty  of  no  other  offence  than  a too  close  adherence  to  the  pacific 
counsels  of  Lord  Clanrickarde.  They  professed  loyalty  and  prac- 

* Those  who  have  read  Maureen  Dhu  will  remember  the  situation 
of  this  Church,  being  identical  with  that  of  the  Dominican  Priory,  so 
often  referred  to  in  that  story.  It  still  bears  the  name  of  St.  Mary’s, 
and  is  the  parish  Church  of  the  Claddagh. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


155 


tised  neutrality  ever  since  the  noble  effort  of  the  young  men 
had  been  quashed  by  the  machiavelian  policy  of  that  most  wily 
statesman  and  cold-hearted  politician.  The  guns  of  Willoughby 
and  Forbes  spoke  the  thanks  of  their  Puritan  rulers  for  the 
humble  submission  of  the  Galway  tribes. 

How  the  proud  Lynches,  and  Browns,  and  Blakes,  the  merchant 
nobles  of  Galway,  cursed  the  easy  credulity  which  had  made 
them  the  dupes  of  Clanrickarde,  as  the  shell  and  shot  from  the 
opposite  extremities  raked  the  city  from  end  to  end,  the  cross- 
fire from  the  fort  and,  oh  wo  of  woes ! from  St.  Mary's  holy  hill, 
sweeping  the  streets  and  avenues  of  the  old  town ! How  the 
women  and  the  old  men  and  little  children  crept,  under  cover 
of  projecting  walls  and  archways,  and  through  by-lanes,  to  the 
shelter  of  the  churches  where  they  had  worshipped  God  in 
peace  in  days  not  long  past,  and  how  fervently  they  prayed  to 
the  good  St.  Nicholas,  St.  Francis  or  St.  Augustine,  as  the  case 
might  be,  to  hear  their  sorrowful  supplications,  and  protect  them 
from  the  fury  of  those  who  were  athirst  'for  their  blood  ! For 
many  days  their  prayers  seemed  to  avail  not,  and  heavier 
grew  the  hearts  of  these  helpless  petitioners  as  time  rolled  cn 
and  succor  came  not,  and  the  ear  of  heaven  seemed  closed 
against  them.  As  for  the  stout  burghers  of  Galway,  little  recked 
they  that  bomb  and  mortar  were  dealing  death  around  ;-«£ear  was 
unknown  to  their  brave  hearts,  and  every  shot  that  re-echoed 
through  their  streets,  every  one  of  their  fellow-citizens  stricken 
to  death,  did  but  add  new  fuel  to  the  flame  kindled  in  their  souls 
by  recent  events.  The  fighting  men  of  the  city  were  one  and  all 
filled  with  the  spirit  of  those  who  captured  the  English  ships  in 
their  harbor,  and  the  gallant  young  men  who  accomplished  that 
feat  were  now  in  the  changed  circumstances  of  the  city,  almost 
deified  by  the  populace,  who  before  had  regarded  them,  through 
the  loyal  medium  of  Clanrickarde’s  judgment,  as  “ dangerous 
and  seditious.”  Now  things  were  all  changed,  and  the  City  of 
the  Tribes  was  at  last  thoroughly  identified  with  the  national 
cause,  thanks  to  the  laudable  exertions  of  Willoughby  and  his 
new  naval  auxiliary. 

The-municipal  council  of  the  city  was  sitting  one  day  in  earnest 
deliberation,  with  the  patriotic  mayor,  Richard  Martin,  at  their 


156 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


head.  All  at  once  a tremendous  commotion  was  heard  outside, 
and  the  aldermen  starting  to  their  feet  looked  each  other  in  the 
face,  as  though  fearing  what  they  dared  not  utter,  that  the  Puri- 
tans had  broken  into  the  town.  While  they  stood  deliberating 
what  course  they  should  take  for  the  protection  of  life  and  pro- 
perty, if  so  be  any  chance  of  protection  remained  to  them,  the 
door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  in  rushed  a wild,  yet  warlike 
figure,  arrayed  in  the  ancient  Celtic  costume.  Surprise  made 
those  men  of  Galway  pale,  as  the  warrior  stood  panting  before 
them,  for  seldom  indeed  were  Galway  stones  pressed  by  the 
foot  of  the  dispossessed  chieftain  of  Ir-Connaught,  the  bold,  im- 
petuous young  leader,  Murrough  na  DTiu.  All  knew  his  dark, 
handsome  face,  but  no  one  cared  to  speak  his  recognition,  for 
had  they  put  their  thoughts  in  words  it  would  have  been  in  the 
phrase  of  fair  Eleanor’s  father  addressed  to  young  Lochinvar : 

“ Oh  ooms’t  thou  in  peace,  or  coms’t  thou  in  war,” 

for  sooth  to  say  the  warlike  O’Flaherties  were  deemed  no  safe 
neighbors  by  the  Norman  burghers  of  Galway  town.  Nor  was 
the  chiefs  appearance,  or  his  gestures  on  the  occasion,  by  any 
means  calculated  to  re-assure  t hem. 

Before  any  one  else  had  spoken  he  spoke  himself.  “ Men  of 
Galway  !”  said  he  in  his  own  rich  and  musical  tongue,*  “ why  sit 
ye  here  in  idle  parley  when  the  foul  fiend  is  working  his  will  at 
your  very  doors  by  the  hands  of  yonder  Scotch  imps  of  his  1” 

“ We  know  it,  brave  chief!”  said  the  mayor  dejectedly,  “ but 
what  can  we  do  with  such  overwhelming  odds  against  ug  1 Even 
now  are  we  met  to  consult  together  if  perchance  anything  could 
he  done  on  behalf  of  our  poor  city,  but  as  yet  God  hath  not  en- 
lightened us  on  that  head.  Alack  ! alack  ! we  know  full  well 
what  is  going  on  on  either  side  of  us !” 

“ Still  I tell  you,”  cried  the  chieftain,  “ you  know  it  not — ha  ! 
hear  ye  those  shouts  of  wrath  and  vengeance  % Ay!  ay!  they 
may  shout  till  their  throats  are  hoarse  but  avail  it  will  not — come 
hither,  Richard  Martin” — and  seizing  the  astonished  mayor  by 

* The  Connemara  Irish  is  said  to  be  about  the  purest  vernacular  of 
that  tongue. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


15? 


the  arm  he  drew  him  to  the  still  open  door,  the  others  following 
as  though  by  instinct — “ there — look  towards  the  west ! — see  you 
that  flame  V’ 

“Great  God!  I do,  what  may  it  mean!  Are  they  burning 
the  Claddagh  1 — the  fire  seemeth  in  that  direction  ! Alas  ! alas  ! 
for  our  brave  poor  fishermen  ! that  surely  is  their  village  !” 

“Not  so,”  replied  O’Flaherty  in  a strange  hoarse  voice;  “ not 
so,  Richard  Martin  ! Wouldst  know  what  food  it  be  that  feedeth 
yonder  lurid  flame,  I will  tell  thee.  It  is  the  bones  of  the  dead 
and  their  mouldering  coffins  and  the  flesh  that  the  worm  hath 
spared  in  the  earth  below ■” 

“ Merciful  Heaven  ! what  mean  you  ?” 

“I  mean  that  these  earth-born  devils,  finding  themselves  un- 
able to  come  at  you  or  me,  or  such  other  wild  animals,  did  dig 
up  the  dead  from  their  graves  in  St.  Mary’s  churchyard,  and 
having  first  enjoyed  to  their  hearts’  content  the  pleasant  recrea- 
tion of  kicking  and  smashing  the  poor  remains  of  mortality,  they 
have  e'en  made  a bonfire  of  them,*  the  which,  Mayor  of  Galway  ! 
your  eyes  may  see.  Ha!  ha ! that  smoke  is  black,  and  thick, 
and  heavy, — little  wronder,  for  methinks  it  cometh  from  hell’s 
fire !” 

Various  exclamations  of  horror  escaped  the  listeners,  then  more 
numerous  than  at  first,  as  people  were  coming  from  all  direc- 
tions to  the  Town  Hall  hoping  to  have  their  curiosity  gratified 
as  to  the  cause  of  this  new  commotion,  forgetting  the  danger  to 
which  they  were  exposed.  O’Flaherty  was  not  slow  to  fan  the 
flame  which  his  tidings  had  enkindled,  and  his  burning  words 
roused  the  men  of  Galway  into  sudden  and  vigorous  life.  The 
lethargy  into  which  they  had  of  late  fallen  vanished  at  the  touch 
of  this  new  magician,  and  the  hot  old  blood  of  Galway  arose  in 
fury,  ready  to  do  and  dare  all  things  whatsoever  the  so-lately 
dreaded  O’Flaherty  advised.  Elated  at  the  thought  of  having 

* This  hideous  fact  is  historically  true.  All  the  historians  of  that 
period,  as  well  Protestant  as  Catholic,  mention  this  sacrilegious  deed 
of  Forbes.  See  Hardiman’s  Hist  Galway,  Warner’s  Civil  IFars,  &e., 
&c.  Would  any  but  a Puritan  commander  ever  devise  such  an  act  of 
sacrilege,  so  horrible,  so  useless  to  the  perpetrators  ? 


158 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


so  gallant  a chieftain  for  their  leader,  the  citizens  cried  out  that 
the  fort  must  be  taken.  To  this,  however,  the  mayor  objected 
as  a rash  and  unsafe  step,  and  Murrougli  na  Dliu,  after  a mo- 
ment’s thought,  took  the  same  view  of  it. 

“ It  were  but  to  ensure  the  destruction  of  your  city  and  a fear- 
ful loss  of  life,”  said  he,  “ to  attack  the  fort  now — while  that 
devil-begotten  Forbes  is  in  front  of  us  with  his  fleet — but  wait, 
my  friends,  wait  till  he  departs  hence  and,  my  life  for  it,  Wil- 
loughby and  his  hornet’s  nest  shal«  be  scattered  to  the  winds — 
leave  the  matter  to  me,  friends  and  fellow-Catholics,  as  ye  have 
so  far  honored  me,  and,  by  the  bones  of  the  outraged  dead  on 
yonder  hill,  this  plague-spot  shall  be  taken  from  your  midst — 
ay  ! were  Clanrickarde  himself  within  it !” 

“ But  bethink  thee,  good  youth,”  said  the  mayor,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  chieftain’s  shoulder,  “ that  ere  Forbes  move  hence 
the  greater  part  of  our  poor  citizens  may  meet  their  death  ! were 
it  not  better  to  stir  at  once  I An’  the  fort  were  silenced,  we 
could  easier  defend  ourselves  against  the  fire  from  St.  Mary’s 
Hill.” 

“ We  may  not  do  it,  Richard  Martin !”  the  chief  replied  as  he 
glanced  upwards  at  the  commanding  fortress ; “an’  we  did,  it 
would  but  draw  on  your  city  a terrible  vengeance  from  yonder 
accursed  fleet — wait,  I tell  you,  we  shall  have  our  opportunity 
an’  we  be  not  rash.  Fare  ye  well ! I must  home  to  my  own 
people  to  prepare  them  for  giving  that  support  which  you  may 
need.” 

He  was  moving  away  regardless  of  the  discontented  murmurs 
of  the  populace,  when  the  mayor  again  addressed  him. 

“ Murrough  O’f'laherty,  you  are  brave  and  generous  or  report 
belieth  you — much  have  you  done  in  your  own  person  for  the 
righteous  cause — may  we  depend  upon  your  assistance  or  rather 
your  guidance  1 — you  will  not  fail  us  in  our  need  7” 

“ I have  said  it,”  Murrough  made  answer,  drawing  himself  up 
to  the  full  height  of  his  lofty  stature;  “ when  did  a prince  of  the 
O’Flahertys  fail  to  redeem  his  plighted  word  7 Brave  hearts 
have  ye  here  within  your  city,  and  with  God’s  good  aid,  we  shall 
take  the  fort  as  easily  as  they  took  a ship  of  war,  against  odds 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


159 


still  greater ! Once  more,  farewell,  and  God  be  with  ye  till  we 
meet  again.” 

For  two  whole  weeks  after  that  was  Galway  exposed  to  the 
double  cannonade,  and  her  harassed  inhabitants  already  began 
to  think  of  capitulating,  for  Lord  Clanrickarde,  as  usual,  was 
negotiating  for  what  he  called  “ peace.”  Anxiously  the  citizens 
looked  towards  the  far  mountains  of  Jar-Connaught,  but  no  war- 
like band  was  seen  to  issue  thence,  nor  did  Murrough  appear  to 
redeem  his  promise.  Despair  was  taking  possession  of  the 
mayor  and  the  aldermen,  and  they  had  all  but  determined  on 
following  the  Earl’s  advice  on  his  promise  of  obtaining  favorable 
terms  for  them;  but  better  things  were  in  store  for  the  suffering 
townspeople.  All  at  once  the  prayers  so  long  offered  up  in  vain, 
as  it  would  seem,  were  heard  above.  Without  any  apparent  rea- 
son for  so  doing,  Lord  Forbes  moved  off  with  his  fleet  one  fine 
day,  making  no  one  the  wiser  as  to  why  lj3  went,  and  before 
Willoughby  hal  recovered  the  shock  of  his  ally’s  unaccountable 
disappearance,  Murrough  n%  Dim  was  again  in  the  city,  this 
time  with  a company  of  his  chosen  men,  and  being  immediately 
joined  by  the  bravest  and  most  experienced  of  the  citizen  sol- 
diers, they  took  the  fort  by  storm,  put  its  garrison  to  the  sword, 
and  demolished  the  walls  that  they  might  never  again  harbor 
an  English  garrison.  Strange,  and  not  less  creditable  than 
strange,  is  the  fact  that  Willoughby  was  included  in  the  terms  of 
capitulation  and  suffered  to  escape  to  England. 

How  different  were  the  conduct  of  the  people’s  enemies  had 
they  a popular  leader  in  their  hands,  even  less  obnoxious  than 
Willoughby ! 


160 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

“ The  keen  spirit 

Seizes  the  prompt  occasion, — makes  the  thoughts 

Start  into  instant  action,  and  at  once 

Plans  and  performs,  resolves  and  executes  !” 

Hannah  Moke. 

“ Night  closed  around  the  Conqueror’s  way 
And  lightnings  show’d  the  distant  hill, 

Where  those  who  lost  that  fatal  day 
Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still.” 

Moore’s  Irish  Melodies. 

Whilst  the  Puritan  admiral  was  wreaking  his  impotent  fury, 
as  we  have  described,  on  the  mouldering  bones  of  the  Claddagh 
villagers  in  St.  Mary’s  churchyard,  General  Barry  was  advancing 
with  a large  army  into  the  county  of  Cork,  where  the  principal 
places  of  strength  were  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  foremost 
amongst  whom  was  the  Earl  of  Cork  with  his  seven  warlike  sons, 
all  officers  of  some  note.  Lord  Broghill,  the  third  in  age,  is  al- 
ready known  to  the  reader  as  one  of  the  best  captains  of  that 
day,  and  of  the  others,  Lord  Kinalmeaky,  although  young  in 
years,  was  already  noted  for  his  savage  ferocity*  which  appears 
to  have  endeared  him  to  his  amiable  parent,  for  we  find  that 
illustrious  and  most  successful  adventurer  writing  to  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  after  one  of  the  engagements  which  had  proved  fatal 
to  the  Confederates : 

“And  now  that  the  boy  hath  blooded  himself  upon  them,  I 
hope  that  God  will  bless  him  ; that  as  I now  write  but  of  the 
killing  of  an  hundred,  I shall  shortly  write  of  the  killing  of 
thousands.”* 


* Smith’s  History  of  Cork. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


161 


Such  was  the  spirit  which  actuated  the  Puritan  geneials  of 
that  day,  and  such  were  the  men,  bold,  brave,  cruel  and  unprin- 
cipled, with  whom  the  Confederate  leaders  had  to  deal.  The 
seaports  of  the  noble  county  of  Cork  were  chiefly  in  the  hands 
of  the  Puritan  generals,  as  was  also  the  greater  portion  of  the 
interior,  but  Robert  Barry  was  not  the  man  to  shrink  from  diffi- 
culties which  his  own  valor  and  prudence  might  surmount,  and 
thus  in  a hopeful  spirit  he  undertook  this  Cork  campaign. 
Passing  rapidly  through  the  country,  and  dexterously  avoiding 
the  various  detachments  of  the  enemy’s  forces  scattered  over  the 
district,  he  took  many  of  the  strongest  castles  from  the  hands  of 
the  Puritans,  amongst  others  Sir  Philip  Percival’s  famous  Castle 
of  Liscarroll,  as  the  reader  has  already  seen.  Although  the  cap- 
ture of  this  fortress  was  justly  esteemed  a great  triumph  for  the 
Confederates,  still  there  were  those  amongst  Barry’s  officers  who 
considered  it  a loss  of  time,  especially  as  Annagh  Castle,  another 
of  Percival’s,  with  some  other  fortresses  in  that  county,  were 
besieged  at  the  same  time,  which  necessarily  weakened  the  Ca- 
tholic forces.  But  Barry  would  not  hear  of  passing  so  much  as 
one  stronghold  that  could  or  did  shelter  a Puritan  band,  and 
notwithstanding  the  singular  dispatch  wherewith  he  took  them 
one  after  the  other,  weeks  of  very  precious  time  were  lost. 
Flushed  with  conquest,  Barry  unhappily  forgot  to  attend  to  what 
was  passing  around  him. 

The  last  day  of  August  had  arrived,  and  the  victorious  gene- 
ral was  still  projecting  the  seizure  of  other  castles.  At  evening 
he  stood  with  one  of  his  officers,  surveying  from  a distance  the 
fine  old  fortalice  of  Cloghleigh,  seated  on  a commanding  emin- 
ence, and  he  said  to  his  companion  that  with  God’s  blessing  they 
should  call  it  theirs  before  the  week  ended 

“ An’  you  do,  General  Barry,  you  will  rue  it  all  the  days  you 
have  to  live,”  said  a quiet-looking  gentleman  of  middle  age,  who 
under  favor  of  his  Celtic  costume  had  approached  the  outskirts 
of  the  army  unperceived,  and  dismounting  from  a smooth  nag, 
whose  bridle  hung  carelessly  over  his  arm,  he  joined  the  two 
officers  with  the  air  of  one  who  felt  himself  their  equal. 

“ How  is  that,  friend  V’  said  Barry  with  a start. 

“ Why,  your  scouts  are  not  worth  much  or  you  would  know 


162 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


ere  now  that  Inchiquin  is  within  a few  hours’  journey  with  a 
force  far  superior  to  yours.” 

“Say  you  so,  good  sir'?”  exclaimed  Barry  cheerfully,  his 
thin  pale  lip  curved  with  a scornful  smile.  “ By  St.  Brendan- 
the  Mariner,  I am  right  glad  to  hear  it.  I have  been  long  de- 
sirous to  have  a tilt  with  Murrough.  But  were  he  within  a mif^ 
yonder  castle  must  be  ours — it  sits  so  gracefully  looking  down 
on  those  two  fair  streams,*  queen  and  mistress  of  both.” 

“Heed  not  the  castle,”  said  the  quiet  stranger,  “you  have 
castles  enough  in  these  parts  to  protect  your  friends.  Rather 
collect  your  scattered  forces  and  advance  to  meet  Inchiquin,  ere 
Jie  have  time  to  bring  more  troops  together.” 

“You  are  more  of  a soldier,  friend,  than  one  would  take  you 
for,”  observed  the  other  officer,  as  he  glanced  with  a smil9  over 
the  heavy  frame  and  placid  countenance  of  the  stranger.  “ His 
advice  is  good,  General  Barry,  and  we  might  do  worse  than  fol- 
low it.” 

“ But  the  castle,”  said  the  general  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on 
it,  “ surely  a few  hours  would  suffice  to  take  it  with  such  a force 
as  ours.” 

“ I tell  you  let  the  castle  be,”  said  the  stranger  testily;  “ one 
would  think  you  were  the  disinherited  Condon  himself  that 
you  make  so  much  ado  about  the  old  rookery ! An’  you  stay  to 
take  it,  I swear  you  shall  never  set  foot  within  its  wails.” 

“ Do  you  threaten  me,  sir '?”  said  Barry  haughtily. 

“ I threat,  n you  not,”  the  other  calmly  replied ; “ I do  but  tell 
you  what  I know  will  come  to  pass.  I take  my  leave  of  you, 
General  Barry  ! and  you,  Lord  Skerrin” — that  officer  started  on 
hearing  his  name  pronounced  so  unexpectedly — “ an’  I had 
yonder  force  at  my  command,  Murrough  of  the  Burnings  should 
be  brought  to  a stand  before  he  were  a day  older !” 

The  strange  adviser  leisurely  mounted  his  nag,  and  was  turn- 
ing away  down  a bridle  road,  in  the  direction  leading  from  the 

* This  old  fortress  of  the  Condons  occupies  a commanding  site  near 
the  confluence  of  the  Funcheon  and  the  Araglin.  See  Parliam. 
Gazetteer  of  Ireland. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS, 


163 


camp,  when  Lord  Skerrin  hastened  after  him,  and  laying  his 
hand  on  his  saddle  looked  inquiringly  up  into  his  face  : 

“Are  you  a soldier,  friend V’  he  asked;  “hast  ever  fought 
these  Puritans  V* 

“ I have  seen  fighting,”  was  the  curt  reply,  and,  clapping  spurs 
to  his  little  steed,  the  stranger  and  it  bounde  1 off  at  a light  gal- 
lop, away  and  away — 

“ over  brake,  brush  and  scraur,” 

turning  his  head  once  to  make  a warning  gesture  ere  he  plunged 
into  the  depth  of  a narrow  defile  lying  some  hundreds  of  yards 
off  between  two  steep  banks  of  earth. 

Whatever  effect  this  singular  visit  had  on  Barry  he  chose  not 
to  declare  even  to  Lord  Skerrin,  but  a council  of  war  was  sum- 
moned by  him  that  very  night,  and  by  the  light  of  the  camp 
fire  orders  were  issued  to  call  in  all  the  scattered  detachments 
of  the  army.  By  the  morning’s  dawn  the  troops  were  under 
march,  in  the  direction  of  Inchiquin’s  supposed  position.  As  the 
general,  with  Lords  Skerrin  and  Dunboyne,  and  some  other 
officers  of  rank  wrere  about  to  hasten  after  the  rear  division,  he 
turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  Cloghleigh  Castle,  behind 
whose  battlements  the  sun  was  just  appearing.  v Great  Heavens ! 
what  sight  was  there  that  he  looked  and  looked  again,  then 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  finally  turning  to  his  friends  asked  what 
flag  was  that  floating  from  the  keep. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure  escaped  from  every 
mouth. 

“ Our  own  colors,  by  the  rood!”  cried  Skerrin  joyfully ; “see 
an’  they  be  not !” 

“Surely  yes,”  said  the  more  phlegmatic  Dunboyne,  “that  is 
beyond  a doubt,  methinks,  but  how  came  they  there  1” 

“ God  alone  knows,”  Barry  replied  with  a thoughtful  air. 

“ And  our  demure  friend  of  yesternight,  general,”  said  Skerrin 
with  a smile,  “ quiet  and  cool  as  he  seemed,  methinks  he  hath 
moved  in  this  matter.  He  told  me  he  had  seen  fighting  in  his  time, 
but  I would  wager  this  new  casque  of  mine  against  yonder 
kern’s  deer-skin” — pointing  to  an  individual  in  the  saffron- 
dyed  doublet  of  the  Irish  foot-soldiers  who  stood  surveying  their 


164 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


party  at  his  leisure  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  an  aged  beech 
— “ I would  make  that  bet,  I say,  that  the  drowsy-looking  per- 
sonage I have  named  fought  and  fought  well  last  night  while  we 
slept.  What  think  you,  Barry 

Before  the  general  could  answer  a wild  cheer  broke  from 
the  long  lines  of  the  advancing  army,  and  the  glittering  pikes 
and  shining  blades  and  waving  banners  suddenly  came  to  a stop. 
The  amazing  sight  of  their  own  colors  floating  over  a castle 
which  they  had  never  summoned  to  surrender  had  likewise 
attracted  the  eyes  of  the  soldiers,  and  cheer  after  cheer  rent 
the  skies  in  joyful  recognition. 

“ You  guess  well,  my  Lord  Skerrin,”  said  he  of  the  saffron 
doublet,  without  moving  an  inch;”  your  friend  of  yesternight 
knoweth  full  well  how  your  colors  came  on  yonder  flag-staff, 
seeing  that  he  placed  them  there  himself.” 

“ I knew  it,”  said  Skerrin  with  an  exulting  smile ; “ I knew 
there  was  more  in  that  man  than  met  the  eye.  But  who  may 
he  be,  good  fellow,  and  how  came  he  to  take  the  castle  1” 

“ He  is  the  lord  of  Condon’s  country,”  said  the  kern  advanc- 
ing from  under  the  tree  with  a heightened  color  on  his  sallow 
cheek,  “ that  is  to  say  the  rightful  lord,  for  all  that  he  owneth 
not  a foot  of  land  at  this  hour.” 

“ And  his  name  V*  questioned  Barry. 

“ The  English  call  him  Arthur  Condon,  by  the  sept  he  is  still 
known  as  the  Condon,  lord  of  Cloghleigh  and  all  the  land  for 
miles  around.” 

“We  have  heard  the  story  of  his  wrongs,  but,  I say  again, 
how  did  he  come  to  take  the  castle,  well  garrisoned  and  well 
provided  as  it  was  V1 

“ The  stout  arms  of  the  Condons  took  it,”  the  man  replied  with 
sudden  animation,  “ their  stout  arms  and  their  trusty  pikes.” 

“ Had  they  nought  else  but  pikes  1” 

“ A few  muskets  they  had— some  of  them  little  use  from  rust 
— but  such  arms  as  they  had  they  made  the  most  of.” 

Various  expressions  of  admiration  escaped  the  officers  present 
and  Barry  suddenly  asked:  “Were  you  there,  good  friend, 
when  the  castle  was  taken  V’ 

A roguish  smile  beamed  out  on  the  quiet  face  of  the  kern  like 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


165 


sunlight  from  forth  a heavy  cloud : “ Well ! general,  as  you  put 
the  question,  I suppose  it’s  no  treason  to  say  I was  looking  on.” 
“ By  my  patron  St.  George,”  cried  Skerrin,  as  stepping  for- 
ward he  looked  into  the  stranger’s  face,  “an’  I mistake  not,  you 
are  our  informant  of  yesternight — yes,  yes,  I see  it  now.” 

“ I admit  the  fact,”  said  the  other,  still  smiling, 

“ Ha ! and  your  name  7”  asked  Barry  and  Skerrin  in  a breath. 
“ Arthur  Condon,  the  chief  man  of  that  name,  although  a 
very  poor  one,  but  such  as  he  is,  very  much  at  the  service  of 
General  Barry  and  subject  to  his  order” — and  he  bowed  with  the 
easy  self-possession  of  a gentleman. 

“Iam  much  beholden  to  you,  sir,”  said  the  general,  and  he 
warmly  shook  him  by  the  hand ; “ your  achievement  of  last 
night  shows  the  value  of  your  co-operation.  But  methinks  your 
present  habiliments  belie  your  condition — wherefore  that  dis- 
guise 7” 

You  ask  me  frankly,  general,  and  1 will  tell  you:  from  an 
itching  I had  to  see  how  the  surprise  1 planned  would  affect  you 
all,  myself  noticed  by  none.  But  I see  the  army  is  again  in  mo- 
tion— pardon  me,  lords  and  gentlemen,  in  that  I have  detained 
you  over  long  when  moments  are  so  precious.” 

“ One  moment  more,  Master  Condon,”  said  Barry,  as  he 
placed  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  ready  to  mount  the  charger  which 
a horse-boy  held  by  the  bridle  ; “ you  that  can  take  such  strong- 
holds as  that” — pointing  to  the  castle — “ must  needs  have  valiant 
men  at  your  command — could  you  not  spare  us  some  7” 

“ Not  a man,  general,'’  said  Condon  with  a blunt  determina- 
tion which  surprised  all  and  made  the  courtly  Norman  nobles 
who  surrounded  Barry  look  at  each  other  with  wondering  eyes. 

“ Not  a man  !”  the  general  repeated  in  blank  surprise,  “ and 
wherefore  not,  you  who  but  now  offered  your  services  so  freely  7” 
“ Why,  because,  general,  we  can  serve  you  better  here  at  home 
— this  is  Condon's  country , you  know,  so  called  in  past  times, 
now  only  in  name,  but  with  God  and  Our  Lady’s  aid  we  mean  to 
make  it  so  at  this  Juncture,  were  it  but  for  religion’s  dear  sake, 
that  our  altars  may  once  more  arise  from  the  dust,  and  our 
priests  stand  before  them  vested  as  of  old.  We  would  see  yon- 
der flag  streaming  from  every  fort  within  our  ancient  borders, 


166 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS, 


and  to  that  end  we  follow  not  the  army  as  our  hearts  would  de> 
sire,  hut  rather  do  your  work  here  as  we  of  the  soil  only  can. 
Fare  ye  well,  noble  gentlemen,  and  God  speed  ye ! when  next 
you  come  this  way  you  will  find  the  country  all  your  own,  or 
leafra  that  Arthur  Condon  hath  found  a grave  in  the  land  he  loved, 
— in  any  case,  my  heart  is  with  you,  and  my  life  devoted  to  your 
sacred  cause!  Hark!  your  trumpets  call! — would  that  I too 
might  obey  the  summons,  but  here  my  lot  is  cast — here — at  least 
for  a time — is  my  sphere  of  action — retributive  justice  will  have 
it  so !” 

As  if  inspired  by  reason  his  nag  approached  him  at  this  mo- 
ment from  the  gap  of  a neighboring  fence,  and  leaping  on  its 
back  with  the  lightness  of  five-and-twenty,  the  chieftain  waved 
a parting  salute  and  disappeared  by  the  same  opening,  leaving 
Barry  and  his  officers  filled  with  admiration  as  well  as  surprise. 

The  gallant  Condon  well  redeemed  his  pledge,  as  the  chroni- 
cles of  those  days  bear  witness.*  and  his  brave  spirit  infused  life 
and  vigor  into  many  who  before  were  weak  and  wavering. 

But,  alas ! for  the  fine  army  led  by  Barry  to  meet  the  foe  that 
morning.  Had  he  advanced  a week  sooner,  before  Lord  Inchi- 
quin  had  had  time  to  collect  his  scattered  forces,  he  might  have 
obtained  such  a victory  as  would  strike  terror  into  the  enemy, 
but  unfortunately  it  turned  out  as  Condon  had  feared  that  the 
time  spent  by  the  Confederates  in  taking  castles  had  been  turned 
to  still  better  account  by  Inchiquin,  and  enabled  him  to  retrieve 
the  series  of  minor  defeats  which  had  left  him  well  nigh  without 
an  army  and  badly  furnished  with  provisions  for  what  he  had. 
This  state  of  things  was  well  known  to  Barry  and  others  of  the 
Confederate  leaders,  and  relying  on  it,  they  had  been  tempted 
to  secure  as  much  of  the  country  as  they  possibly  could.  Hear- 
ing now  that  Inchiquin  was  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Liscarroll  they  marched  thither  with  all  haste,  and  learning  from 
their  scouts  that  he  was  advancing  towards  them,  they  took  up 
a position  on  the  third  day  of  September  on  an  eminence  not  lar 
from  the  castle. 

* “ The  sept  of  the  Condons  were  giving  the  Confederate  leaders 
the  most  effectual  assistance  in  another  part  of  the  country.” — Mee- 
han’s Confed  , Kilk.t  chap.  I. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


167 


Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  Confederate  generals  when  the 
enemy  came  in  sight,  to  find  him  some  thousands  strong  in  foot 
with  several  troops  of  horse.  Lord  Inchiquin  himself  com- 
manded the  centre  of  three  divisions,  and  with . him  as  a volun- 
teer was  Lord  Kinalmeaky.  Other  officers  of  experience  led  on 
the  other  divisions,  and  the  men,  as  it  happened,  had  far  the 
advantage  of  Barry’s  in  point  of  discipline.  This  the  Confede- 
rate leaders  saw,  and  they  prudently  resolved  to  allow  the  enemy 
to  exhaust  his  strength  in  a charge.  And  bravely  the  men  of 
Munster  withstood  the  fierce  onslaught,  their  serried  pikes  form- 
ing, as  it  were,  an  iron  rampart  which  no  force  of  the  enemy 
could  break  through.  The  Puritans  fell  back  in  some  confusion, 
for  Inchiquin  had  received  a dangerous  wound  and  many  other 
officers  had  sustained  more  or  less  injury  at  the  hands  of  the 
formidable  pikemen.  The  Irish  charged  in  turn,  and  their 
charge  was  also  bravely  resisted ; orders  were  then  given  on 
both  sides  for  a general  attack,  and  when  it  came  to  close  quar- 
ters the  training  and  discipline  and  greater  experience  of  the 
enemy  became  apparent.  Fighting  hand  to  hand  the  officers 
were  seen  engaged  in  mortal  combat,  and  many  a chivalrous 
deed  of  valor  marked  that  fatal  scene ; Inchiquin  removed  to  a 
place  of  safety,  watched  the  fight  witb  e}Tes  starting  from  their 
sockets,  and  a whirlwind  of  passion  sweeping  athwart  his  impe- 
tuous soul.  One  after  one  he  beheld  his  officers  disappearing, 
either  carried  wounded  from  the  field  or  sinking  amid  the  slain, 
but  still  his  forces  kept  their  ground,  and  his  flinty  heart  little 
recked  who  fell  so  long  as  victory  forsook  not  his  banners. 
Vavasour  was  there  and  Kinalmeaky,  and  their  waving  plumes 
were  security  against  defeat.  All  at  once  a wild  shout  of  exult- 
ation arose  from  the  ranks  of  the  Confederates,  and  rang  far 
over  hill  and  dell : 

“ Kinalmeaky  is  down  ! Kinalmeaky  is  down  ! — death  to  the 
Puritans ! ’ and  as  though  the  fall  of  that  destroying  fiend  had 
inspired  the  Catholics  with  fresh  courage,  and  their  enemies 
with  despair,  the  serried  ranks  of  the  latter  began  suddenly  to 
waver,  and  Inchiquin,  forgetful  of  his  wound,  raised  himself 
from  the  ground  with  a mighty  effort  and  waved  his  arm  with 
frantic  energy : 


168 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Vavasour ! Percival ! — we  are  lost,  an’  they  force  you  down 
the  hill ! Heavens ! what  are  you  about  'l  Ha ! they  waver 
now  ! Now,  Vavasour  ! on  them — on  them — slay  them  without 
mercy — no  quarter — no  quarter,  I say  ! — they  fly — by  the  great 
Immortal,  they  fly  ! After  them  and  the  day  is  ours  !” 

And  so  it  was.  Sir  Charles  Vavasour,  an  aged  and  experienced 
officer,  on  whom  the  command  devolved,  seeing  the  discourage- 
ment of  his  troops  after  Kinalmeaky’s  fall,  and  the  corresponding 
exultation  of  the  Confederates,  applied  his  whole  energy  and 
skill  to  rally  his  despairing  battalions  and  bring  them  up  for 
another  charge.  He  succeeded,  and  the  desperate  courage 
which  his  words  had  infused  into  his  men  so  nerved  their  arms 
and  edged  their  swords  that  their  attack  was  irresistible.  Rush- 
ing with  headlong  force  against  the  line  of  the  Confederates  now 
sadly  thinned,  their  bayonets  and  sabres  did  fearful  execution,  and 
their  cavalry  dashing  in  on  the  wavering  ranks  trampled  down 
all  before  them.  The  Irish,  seized  with  a sudden  panic,  broke 
and  fled  in  disorder  towards  a bog  which  lay  at  a little  distance. 
After  them  like  blood-hounds  rushed  the  Puritans,  urged  on  by 
the  cries  of  their  ruthless  commanders. 

“ Cut  them  down  ! down  ! every  man  of  them !” 

“ No  quarter,  as  you  fear  the  righteous  God !” 

“ Death  to  the  brood  of  the  scarlet  woman  !” 

Wounded  as  he  was,  the  sight  of  the  flying  Catholics  and  the 
cries  of  the  pursuers  so  inflamed  the  natural  ferocity  of  Inchi- 
quin  that,  despite  the  entreaties  of  his  attendants,  he  sprang  on 
his  horse  and  darted  off  to  join  the  chase,  looking  like  the  ghost 
of  some  hideous  murderer,  with  his  ghastly  haggard  face  and 
blood-stained  garments.  Before  the  main  body  of  the  Irish  army 
had  been  formed  into  order  for  retreat  by  the  exertions  of  its 
brave  but  (on  that  occasion)  unfortunate  commanders,  several 
hundreds  had  already  perished  in  that  fatal  morass  by  the 
merciless  swords  and  bayonets  of  the  Puritans.  Just  as  the  rear 
guard  was  formed,  almost  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  night  sud- 
denly closed  in  dark  and  moonless,  and  the  victors,  still  unsa- 
tiated with  blood,  were  stopped  in  full  pursuit. 

Better  acquainted  with  the  locality  than  their  enemies,  the 
Confederates  continued  their  march  all  night,  and  long  before 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


1G0 


the  dawn  had  placed  a wide  stretch  of  country  between  them 
and  their  pursuers.  Saddened  and  discouraged  they  were,  but  still 
unsubdued,  and  burning  for  an  opportunity  to  retrieve  their 
losses  and  efface  the  stain  of  that  day’s  disgrace  from  the  banners 
they  had  saved  with  so  much  blood.  Heavy  as  was  their  loss, 
moreover,  they  had  still  the  poor  consolation  of  knowing  that  the 
enemy  counted  well  nigh  as  much,  and,  above  all,  they  thought 
with  the  stern  joy  of  avengers  that  if  there  was  sorrow  in  their 
camp  that  night  there  should  be  wailing  on  the  morrow  in  the 
princely  halls  of  Lismore*  over  one  of  the  cruellest  of  their 
oppressors. 

* Lismore  Castle  was  then  and  long  after  the  dwelling  of  the 
Boyles,  Earls  of  Cork. 

18 


170 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

“ I pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 

Which  falls  into  mine  ear  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a sieve.” 

Shakespeare 

“ And  extreme  fear  can  neither  fight  nor  fly, 

But,  coward-like,  with  trembling  terror  die.” 

Shakespeare. 

“ To  make  the  cunning  artless,  tame  the  rude, 

Subdue  the  haughty,  shake  the  undaunted  soul — 

These  are  the  triumphs  of  all  powerful  beauty  .” 

Joanna  Baillie. 

While  Barry  and  his  brave  associates  were  sustaining  with 
varying  fortune  in  Munster  and  Leinster  the  cause  of  religion  and 
liberty,  Owen  Roe  was  quietly  and  cautiously  biding  his  time, 
training  his  army  according  to  the  newer  and  more  approved 
modes  of  warfare  practised  on  the  continent,  so  that  when  the 
time  came  for  his  taking  the  field  he  might  meet  his  opponents 
on,  at  least,  equal  terms.  He  was  busily  engaged  one  day 
towards  the  end  of  August  directing  the  evolutions  of  a body  of 
cavalry  on  a common  outside  the  town  of  Charlemont,  when 
Shamus  Beg  and  some  half  dozen  of  his  fellows  who  had  been 
sent  on  a commission  some  miles  northward,  arrived  in  company 
with  just  another  such  party,  arrayed  in  the  costume  of  Monroe’s 
soldiers,  and  accompanied  by  a trumpeter.  A shout  of  execra- 
tion burst  from  the  clansmen  at  the  sight,  whereat  Shamus 
waxed  wroth, 

“ Can’t  you  have  manners,  now,  you  great  ghomerils,”  said  he, 
“ and  let  the  men  alone,  when  it’s  only  doing  an  errand  they 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


171 


are  1 Don’t  you  see  the  decent  boy  with  the  trumpet  here  wait- 
ing to  have  a parley  with  the  general  1” 

“ With  me,”  said  Owen  Roe  riding  up  at  the  moment. 

“ With  you  and  no  other,  may  it  please  your  generalship.  Do 
you  think  we’d  have  brought  them  safe  here  if  it  wasn’t  for 
that  1 Speak  up  now,  Sassums !”  turning  to  them  with  a ludic- 
rous air  of  authority.  Here’s  the  O'Neill  now.  Humph  ! I 
mean  General  O’Neill.  Speak  up  and  don’t  be  afraid.  Devils 
an’  all  as  you  are,  you’ll  go  back  with  whole  bones  this  time.” 

“ Don’t  promise  too  much  now,  Shamus  aroon,”  said  a stal- 
wart O’Neill  from  the  cavalry  ranks;  “they  never  show  us 
mercy,  when  they  have  us  in  their  power.” 

“ I know  that  as  well  as  you,”  said  Shamus,  “ maybe  I don’t, 
to  my  heavy,  heavy  sorrow,  but  that’s  neither  here  nor  there — I 
gave  them  my  word  I’d  see  them  safe  over  the  county  march 
again,  and  the  first  man  that  says  1 boo’  to  them  must  have  a 
bout  with  me.  Do  you  mind,  now,  Rody  1” 

Rody,  notwithstanding  his  bluster,  did  mind,  for  the  weight 
of  Shamus’s  fists  was  sufficiently  well  known  to  make  the  threat 
effective.  The  good-humored  laughter  which  greeted  Shamus’s 
assumption  of  authority  gave  that  privileged  person  no  offence, 
for  his  sense  of  dignity  was  too  deep-seated  .to  be  easily  dis- 
turbed. 

Meanwhile  the  trumpeter  had  advanced  at  the  general’s  invi- 
tation, and  staring  the  latter  full  in  the  face,  he  said  without  any 
the  slightest  military  salute  : 

“ Be  you  the  man  whom  the  rebels  call  General  O’Neill  1” 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  presumptuous  speaker  that  none  but 
the  general  fully  understood  what  he  said. 

“ I am  the  man  so  called,”  O’Neill  replied  drily,  but  without 
any  show  of  resentment;  “ what  is  your  business  with  me,  good 
fellow 

“ I have  got  a bit  paper  here  somewhere,”  said  the  ill-man- 
nered Puritan,  fumbling  awkwardly  in  a pouch  fastened  inside 
the  breast  of  his  doublet,  whence  he  at  length  drew  forth  a letter 
which  he  handed  to  the  general,  saying,  “ cur  new  general  sends 
you  that,  and  wants  an  answer  by  return  !” 

“ And  who  may  your  new  general  be 


172 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I opine  you’ll  see  it  in  the  letter,”  said  the  fellow  curtly, 
having  evidently  no  relish  for  discoursing  with  Popish  recusants. 

Smiling  at  the  boorishness,  so ' characteristic  of  all  the  man’s 
tribe,  0 Neill  turned  aside  to  read  the  letter,  after  warning  his 
men  to  take  no  notice  of  the  strangers. 

Breaking  the  seal  with  no  small  curiosity,  Owen  Roe  glanced 
at  the  signature,  and  perceived  that  his  strange  and  unexpected 
correspondent  was  no  other  than  Lord  Leven,  whose  arrival  at 
Carrickfergus  with  reinforcements  for  Monroe  was  already  noised 
abroad  throughout  the  country.  “It  is  rather  odd,”  thought 
O’Neill,  “ that  he  should  take  to  writing  letters  to  me  of  all  men 
— let  us  see  what  he  has  to  say.” 

Any  one  watching  his  countenance  would  have  seen  that  the 
contents  of  the  letter  amused  him  mightily,  for  ever  as  he  read 
the  smile  on  his  lip  became  more  humorous  and  his  eyes  twinkled 
with  a merrier  light. 

“ Well,”  said  Shamus  Beg  to  one  of  his  comrades,  “ I’d  give  a 
trifle  to  know  what’s  written  down  there  that  it  makes  the  gene- 
ral look  so  droll.  An’  it  was  Sir  Phelim,  now,  I’d  have  a chance 
of  hearing  the  secret  before  long,  but,  ochone ! sure  this  man 
keeps  his  mind  to  himself  so  close  that  no  one’s  the  wiser  for 
what  he  thinks  or  what  he  knows.  Sure  enough  he’s  a wise 
man !” 

“ Shamus !”  said  the  general,  “ I leave  these  men  in  your 
charge  while  I prepare  an  answer  for  the  letter  they  have  brought 
me.  See  that  no  accident  befal  them  !” 

“ Oh ! the  sorrow  an  accident,  general,  will  befal  them ,”  said 
the  foster-brother  of  Sir  Phelim  ; “ they’re  under  my  protection 
already,  but  your  bidding  goes  beyond  that  again.” 

The  cavalry  were  then  dismissed  for  that  day,  but  still  most 
of  them  lounged  behind,  anxious  to  see  the  Sassum  dergs  started 
again  before  they  left  the  ground. 

O’Neill,  alone  in  his  chamber,  read  Lord  Leven’s  letter  again, 
and  again  the  arch  smile  curled  his  thin  lip.  “ He  wonders,  for- 
sooth,” said  he  half  aloud,  “ that  a man  of  my  rank  and  reputa- 
tion should  come  to  Ireland  to  support  so  bad  a cause,  and  very 
civilly  intimates  that  I would  do  well  to  return  whence  I came. 
Truly  the  man  hath  an  over  great  opinion  of  his  powers  of  per- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


173 


suasion  when  he  taketh  it  upon  him  to  offer  me  advice.  Plague 
on  him  for  a Puritanical  coxcomb,  what  a fool  he  must  e’en  take 
me  for.  Methinks  I were  hard  run  for  counsel  when  I would 
seek  it  or  take  it  of  mine  enemy.  A plausible  knave  he  is* 
moreover,  with  his  fair,  soft  speech — well,  I will  answer  him  in 
such  wise  that  he  will  never  volunteer  advice  to  me  again.” 

And  thereupon  Owen  Roe  took  up  his  pen  and  indited  such  an 
epistle  to  Lord  Leven  as  must  have  given  him  a distaste  for  ad- 
vising Irish  chieftains  generally,  and  the  toparch  of  Tyrone  in 
particular. 

Amongst  other  cutting  remarks  there  committed  to  paper, 
Owen  Roe  told  the  new  Scotch  general  very  plainly  that  he 
thought  he  had  a better  right  to  defend  his  own  country  than 
his  lordship  Had  to  march  into  England  against  his  lawful  sover- 
eign.* This  Leven  had  done,  as  O’jSTeill  well  knew. 

The  answer  written  and  dispatched  was  duly  delivered  in 
Carrickfergus,  Shamus  himself  seeing  the  Scotchmen,  as  he  had 
promised,  to  the  county  march.  His  task,  nevertheless,  wTas  not 
so  easy  as  he  had  expected,  for  while  still  on  the  Tyrone  side  of 
the  border  he  fell  in  with  a party  of  Rapparees  who  had  been  out 
on  a foraging  expedition.  Who  should  be  leader  of  the  band 
but  Angus  Dhu,  and  the-  young  man  was  riding  up  with  his 
usual  cordiality  to  greet  Shamus,  when  his  eye  falling  on  the 
sergeant  in  command  of  the  Puritans,  he  turned  ghastly  pale,  and 
putting  his  right  hand  across  his  eyes  he  said,  or  rather 
shrieked  : 

“ Mother  of  God,  Shamus,  know  you  with  whom  you  are 
keeping  company  T’ 

“ That  do  I all  too  well,”  said  O’Hagan,  “ but  they  brought  a 
letter  from  Garrick  to  the  general — I met  them  on  the  way  by 
chance  and  conducted  them  to  Charlemont,  and  now  they  have 
the  general’s  answer  back  with  them,  and  he  gave  them  in 
charge  to  me , Angus,  to  see  them  safe  over  the  border.” 

“ Shamus  O’Hagan,”  said  the  young  Rapparee  withdrawing 
his  hand  from  his  face  but  still  averting  his  eyes  from  the 
hated  Sassums,  “ Shamus,  friend  of  my  heart,  hast  thou  for- 


* Rinuccini’s  Memoirs. 


174 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


gotten  that  awful  night  when,  from  amid  smoke,  and  fire,  and 
death,  thou  didst  hear  thy  beloved  with  the  swiftness  of  the  wind 
in  the  vain  search  for  safety  V* 

“ I remember  it  well,”  said  Shamus,  lowering  his  eyes  before 
the  fiery  orbs  that  were  flashing  upon  him. 

“ Hast  forgotten  the  hell-hounds  who  pursued  thee  in  that 
fearful  chase  seeking  to  tear  the  defenceless  one  from  thee — hast 
forgotten  Lindsay  /” 

“ Forgotten  Lindsay!  no,  never  while  life  beats  in  my  heart!” 
“ There  he  stands,  then,”  and  the  young  man  pointed  to  the 
dark-vbaged  sergeant  who,  although  not  understanding  a 
■word  of  what  was  said,  could  not  avoid  hearing  his  own  name 
and  the  tremendous  emphasis  laid  upon  it.  Conscience  filled  up 
the  blank,  and  the  livid  countenance  of  the  wretch  betrayed  at 
once  his  consciousness  and  his  fears.  Instinctively  he  drew 
back  among  his  comrades  as  Shamus,  turning,  fixed  his  eyes 
searchingly  upon  him. 

“Queen  of  Heaven!  but  I believe  you’re  right,  Angus — it  is 
Lindsay  himself,  and  no  other.  Ah  ! you  curse  of  God  villain 
you  drove  me  into  the  salt  sea  that  night  with  the  pulse  of  my 
heart  that  you’d  fain  have  taken  from  me.” 

“ Ha  ! it  was  your  ain  sel  that  leaped  yon  gulf,  then,”  cried 
the  Scotchman  all  aghast,  and  forgetting  his  fears  for  the  mo- 
ment, he  darted  forward  and  grasping  O’Hagan’s  arm  looked 
him  in  the  face,  “ I thought  you  jist  drowned  yoursel  with  that 
bonnie  lassie — you’d  pleasure  me  much  an’  you’d  tell  me  how 
you  got  awa’  frae  ahint  yon  awsome  black  rocks.” 

“ The  d — 1 give  you  knowledge,  you  ill-conditioned  vagabond,” 
was  Shamus’s  answer,  accompanied  by  a thrust  with  the  butt  end 
of  his  musket  that  made  the  Scotchman  reel  in  his  saddle — “ an’ 
you  open  your  lips  again,  I’ll — I’ll — but,  ochone,  sure  I can’t — I 
can’t — my  hands  are  tied,  more’s  the  pity.” 

“ Shamus,”  said  the  young  Rapparee  in  a very  decided  way, 
“that  man  is  our  prisoner — the  captain  has  us  all  on  our  oath, 
as  you  well  know,  never  to  let  one  of  Monroe’s  hell-hounds  es- 
cape us — wherever  we  meet  them,  by  day  or  by  night,  we’re 
either  to  cut  them  down  or  bring  them  alive  to  him.  Now,  I 
know  he’d  like  to  settle  accounts  himself  with  this  murdering 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


175 


villain.  I claim  him,  then,  in  Donogh’s  name — the  others  I know 
not — if  they  were  at  work  that  night  I saw  them  not — they  may 
go,  therefore,  but  Lindsay  we  must  and  will  have!” 

“It  must  not  be,  Angus,”  said  O’Hagan  resolutely,  and  he 
moved  in  front  of  the  obnoxious  Scotchman  who  was  now  again 
trembling  like  an  aspen.  “ I owe  him  no  more  good  will  than 
yourself,  but  he  is  in  my  charge,  and  came  here  on  my  word — I 
tell  you,  boy ! the  man  that  lays  hand  on  him  is  my  enemy, 
were  he  the  son  of  my  own  mother!  Back!  every  man  of  you!” 
for  the  fierce-looking  Rapparees  were  closing  in  around,  obe- 
dient to  a sign  from  Angus.  “ Back ! or  dread  the  vengeance 
of  Tyr-Ovven !” 

“ Shamus  O’Hagan!”  said  the  old  man,  Florry  Muldoon,  as 
he  brandished  his  formidable  pike  nearer  the  Scotchmen  than 
any  of  them  liked  ; “ Shamus ! ma  bouchal ! it’s  a folly  to  talk 
that  way — you  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  we  of  the  woods 
fear  no  living  man — if  Angus  here  says  that  black  neb  must  be 
taken  to  the  Brantree,  taken  he’ll  be,  depend  upon  it,  so  get  out 
of  the  way  or  you  may  be  sorry,  were  you  Phelimy  Roe  himself, 
instead  of  his  foster-brother.” 

“ Florry,  I don’t  want  to  fight  with  you,”  said  Shamus,  “ that 
and  hang  myself  is  the  last  thing  I’d  do,  but  I tell  you  again  I 
must  leave  these  villains  safe  over  the  march ; after  that  the  old 
de’il  may  take  them  for  me,  and  sure  he  has  the  best  right 
to  them !” 

Now  the  Rapparees  far  outnumbered  Shamus’s  party  and  the 
Scotchmen  put  together,  and  Shamus  well  knew  the  reckless 
bravery  which  made  them  the  terror  of  their  foes.  He  knew 
that  if  it  came  to  close  quarters  he  and  his  were  pretty  sure  to 
have  the  worst  of  it,  but  even  that  would  not  deter  him  from 
doing  his  duiy.  It  was  the  sight  of  Angus  whom  he  loved  with 
more  than  a brother’s  love,  and  the  thought  that  he  might  per- 
chance fal1  in  the  scuffle — that  was  what  troubled  poor  Shamus 
and  made  his  heart  sink  within  him.  Angus  on  his  part  was 
just  as  unwilling  to  meet  Shamus  in  mortal  strife,  but  come 
what  will  he  was  resolved  to  take  Lindsay  dead  or  alive.  His 
followers  waited  but  the  word  to  fall  on,  and  their  eager  eyes 
watched  every  turn  of  his  expressive  countenance  while  their 


176 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


fingers  clutched  their  pikes  with  a restless  itching  for  the 
onslaught. 

“ Boys,”  said  the  fiery  young  leader  at  length,  “ I see  there’s 
no  help  for  it — if  Shamus  will  go  between  us  and  our  revenge, 
his  blood  be  on  his  head — if  they  give  us  that  man  quietly” — 
pointing  to  the  miserable  Lindsay  where  he  cowered  in  his 
saddle  behind  his  reluctant  protector — “ well  and  good — the  rest 
of  the  black  neb3  may  go  in  pea'.e  for  us— but  him  we  must 
have!  Shamus!  will  you,  or  will  you  not,  give  him  up'?” 

“ I couldn’t  do  it,  Angus,  and  you  ought  to  know  that — for 
the  love  of  God — let  us  pass  on,  and  wait  you  some  other  oppor- 
tunity— you’ll  have  it,  and  revenge  will  keep  till  then — oh,  don’t 
— don’t,  Angus,  or  we  must  fire ” 

“ Stand  aside,  Shamus  O’Hagan,  or — ” and  the  young  man 
grasping  his  pike  half  way  down  the  handle,  prepared  to  aim  a 
deadly  thrust  at  Lindsay. 

“ Leave  it  to  your  captain,  Angus !”  cried  Shamus,  driven  to 
the  last  extremity ; “ I’ll  appeal  to  him,  for  he  promised  to  do 
the  general’s  bidding !” 

“ You’re  a greater  fool  than  I took  you  for,  Shamus  Beg!” 
said  Angus  ; “ how  will  the  Captain  decide  the  matter  when  he’s 
not  within  miles  of  us ” 

“The  captain  is  here,”  said  a deep  voice  from  behind  a 
bushy  hawthorn  which  there  overhung  the  road ; “ Shamus’s 
word  and  the  general’s  will  must  be  respected — let  them  go  for 
this  time , and  quickly,  so  that  I see  not  the  accursed  face  of 
Lindsay — an’  I did,  I must  do  a deed  which  belongeth  to  a fu- 
ture hour — pass  on,  Shamus,  and  remember  it  is  for  your  sake 
and  Owen  Roe’s  that  I do  what  by  right  I should  not  do — pass 
on !” 

“ God’s  blessing  and  mine  be  with  you,  Donogh,”  said  Shamus 
with  deep  feeling;  “ we  were  friends  before,  we’ll  be  brothers 
now !” 

“ And  I,  Shamus,”  said  Angus  as  he  drew  his  party  to  one 
side,  to  let  the  others  pass ; “ will  you  ever  forgive  me  ?” 

“ 1 forgive  you  now,  Angus,  my  fine  fellow” — and  Shamus  as 
he  passed  him  shook  his  hand  lustily — “ you  were  right  in  your 
own  way — so  was  I— let  us  be  none  the  worse  friends  for  what 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


177 


has  happened.  Get  along  here  before  me,  you  devil’s  limb  !”  ad- 
dressing the  sergeant  who  was  far  from  being  as  yet  re-assured, 
“ your  carcass  is  not  worth  fighting  for,  God  knows,  but  no  mat- 
ter— ride  on,  I tell  you  !” 

The  Scotchmen  were  only  too  happy  to  obey,  and  as  the 
whole  party  rode  off  at  a brisk  canter.  Donogh  leaped  the  low 
fence  and,  looking  cautiously  around,  gave  a short  whistle,  where- 
upon two  of  his  men  appeared  at  an  opening  in  the  hedge  a few 
yards  distant,  bearing  between  them  a sort  of  rustic  litter  on 
which  sat  the  aged  widow  of  O’Cahan,  followed  closely  by  her 
daughter  on  foot  with  two  more  of  the  Rapparees,  the  latter 
keeping  some  paces  behind  through  respect  for  the  lady.  The 
whole  cavalcade  set  out  at  once  on  the  road  to  Charlemont,  es- 
corted now  by  the  party  under  Angus,  to  whom  Donogh  had 
whispered  some  directions. 

It  so  happened  that  they  had  proceeded  but  a little  way  when 
Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  was  seen  approaching  by  a bridle  road  fol- 
lowed by  some  six  or  eight  of  his  own  retainers. 

“ What  ho  ! who  goes  there  V’  cried  the  knight  as  he  pushed 
his  horse  to  a gallop  to  meet  the  party  ; “ why,  the  Rapparees,  as 
I hope  to  be  saved — and  well  mounted,  too ! But  the  captain 
on  foot — how  is  that,  good  fellow  V ’ 

Just  at  this  moment  he  caught  sight  of  the  ladies,  and  a 
change  came  over  his  bold  visage. 

“ Ha!  by  the  sword  of  Nial,  this  is  a sight! — I wish  you  joy, 
madam,  of  your  elevated  seat,”  bowing  with  mock  respect  to 
the  mother,  while  to  the  daughter  he  said,  “ strolling  tinkers,  or 
what  1 — mayhap  gypsies  V’  and  he  burst  into  a loud  laugh 
that  was  more  forced  than  natural. 

Judith  answered  only  by  a scornful  look,  but  Donogh  advanc- 
ing to  her  side,  took  upon  him  to  reply — “ Sir  Phelim  O'Neill,  I d 
have  you  to  know  that  these  ladies  are  under  our  protection — he 
who  does  them  ill,  ay  ! or  says  them  ill,  is  no  friend  of  ours.” 

“And  who  the  fiend  cares  for  thatl”  said  Sir  Phelim  con- 
temptuously ; “ oh,  I beg  pardon,”  correcting  himself,  as  it  were, 
“ I forgot  Owen  Roe,  your  great  friend  and  patron.  But,  an- 
swer me  this,  young  man  : whither  do  you  take  those  Rapparee 
ladies  in  such  state  1 Have  they  tired  of  forest  life  1” 


178 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Before  Donogh  could  answer,  Judith  herself  replied:  “"We 
are  on  our  way  to  Charlemont,  and  are  not  tired  of  forest  life, 
thanks  to  the  generous  care  of  these  brave  fellows.” 

“ Why  leave  them,  then,  in  God’s  name,  since  you  like  so  well 
their  entertainment  l” 

“ Because,  Sir  Phelim,”  replied  Donogh,  “ there  are  rumors 
abroad  that  the  Puritan  generals  do  purpose  making  an  attack 
on  the  Brantree,  and  although  for  ourselves  we  fear  them  not, 
we  must  place  these  ladies  beyond  their  reach,  for  fear  of  the 
worst !” 

“ Ay,  for  fear  of  the  worst,”  muttered  the  aged  lady,  looking 
down  with  a moistened  eye  on  the  wild-looking  fellows  who  formed 
her  guard  ; “ it  were  an  evil  hour  for  us  when  the  enemy  prevailed 
over  our  faithful  Rapparees — poor  fellows ! they  and  we  are 
alike — hunted  from  post  to  pillar,  without  roof  to  cover  us,  or 
means  of  support,  other  than  charity  gives  us — or  force  can 
take !”  she  added  with  her  dreary  smile. 

“ And  you  go  to  Charlemont  to  take  shelter  under  the  wing 
of  Owen  Roe'!”  said  Sir  Phelim,  endeavoring  to  conceal  the 
emotion  which  he  really  felt  under  an  appearance  of  spiteful 
levity. 

“ Even  so,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  Judith  again,  “ he  hath  promised 
us  protection — he  hath  power  to  make  his  word  good — he  hath 
strong  walls  around  him,  and  there  is  room  enow  within  them 
for  the  widow  and  daughter  of  O’Cahan.  I pray  you  let  us  pass 
without  further  discourse.” 

“ Judith  O’Cahan,”  said  Sir  Phelim,  now  thoroughly  in  ear- 
nest and  lowering  his  voice,  for  he  had  contrived  to  get  near 
her,  “ Judith  O’Cahan,  there  is  no  need  for  this  humbling  your- 
self, an’  you  have  one  grain  of  prudence.  There  is  a safe  and 
honorable  asylum  still  open  for  you  and  your  mother,  as  you 
well  know !” 

“ Name  it  not,  Sir  Phelim,”  exclaimed  the  lady,  her  pale 
cheek  reddening  with  indignation;  “ I have  told  you  my  mind 
on  that  head — it  hath  undergone  no  change !” 

“ Fool  ! fool !”  muttered  the  knight  with  a sudden  movement 
of  anger,  which,  however,  glancing  around,  he  saw  fit  to  repress. 

“ Take  my  horse,  then,  Mistress  Judith,’’  he  said,  making  a mo- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


179 


tion  as  if  0o  alight,  then  added  in  a jocular  way  in  English,  and  in 
an  under  tone,  “ since  you  will  not  take  myself — I beseech  you 
lady,  be  not  obstinate — so  long  a journey  on  foot  ill  beseemeth 
your  sex  and  quality ” 

“Urge  me  no  farther,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  Judith  still  more 
decided  than  before ; “I  may  not  pleasure  myself  with  aught 
that  is  yours.” 

“ And  wherefore,  thou  flinty  charmer'?” 

•“  Ask  thine  own  heart — the  blood  of  Coey-na-gall*  runs  in 
my  veins,  and  my  memory  is  good , oh  ! son  of  the  Hy-Nial ! ’ 

“ But  my  mother  will  be  glad  to  receive  you  and  yours,”  per- 
sisted Sir  Phelim ; “ you  know  she  liveth  apart  from  me  with 
her  son,  Hovenden — surely  with  her  you  will  be  safe — even 
from  me /”  and  he  smiled. 

“ I know  not  that,”  said  Judith  shaking  her  head  doubtfully, 
“ but  even  were  it  as  thou  sayest,  Charlemont  is  our  present 
destination,  for  there  we  are  sure  of  safety  !” 

“ Have  / not  admission  there  V’  asked  Phelim  with  bitter 
emphasis — •“  I who  took  it  from  the  enemy  when  Owen  Roe  was 
tilting  it  in  Arras  beyond  1” 

“ I say  not  but  you  have,”  said  the  lady  calmly,  “ but  once 
there  I fear  you  not — move  on,  men,  my  mother  is  a- weary  and 
needeth  rest  1” 

There  was  so  stern  a dignity  in  Judith’s  demeanor  as  she 
spoke  these  words  that  Sir  Phelim  himself  dare  not  resist,  and 
Donogh  was  not  slow  in  giving  the  necessary  order  to  his  men 
when  once  the  imperious  knight  manifested  no  further  op- 
position. 

With  a gruff  salute  from  Sir  Phelim,  cottrtoously  returned  by 
Judith  and  her  mother,  the  parties  separated,  afrd  half  an  hour 
more  saw  the  homeless  pair  safely  housed  in  Charlemont  Castle, 
where  apartments  were  allotted  them  by  Owen  Roe.  Few  words 
of  welcome  escaped  his  lips  as  he  received  them,  but  few  as  they 
were  they  satisfied  the  mother  and  daughter. 

* Coen-na-gall  (the  Scourge  of  the  Stranger)  was  a famous  chieftain 
of  the  O’Cahans  in  earlier  times  ; he  was  celebrated,  as  his  name  im> 
plies,  for  his  successful  resistance  to  foreign  tyranny.  * 


180 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

“ But  slaves,  that  once  conceive  the  glowing  thought 
Of  freedom,  in  that  hope  itself  possess 
All  that  the  contest  calls  for  ; — spirit,  strength, 

The  scorn  of  danger,  and  united  hearts, 

The  surest  presage  of  the  good  they  seek.” 

Cowper’s  Tasfa. 

“ Who,  all  unbribed,  on  Freedom’s  ramparts  stand, 

Faithful  and  true,  bright  wardens  of  the  land.” 

Charles  Sprague. 

The  middle  days  of  October  were  past,  and  the  ancient  city  of 
Kilkenny  (to  which  we  would  now  conduct  our  readers)  was  a 
scene  of  gay  and  joyous  bustle.  Hostelries  were  crowded  with 
the  military  retainers  of  the  great  chiefs  and  nobles,  while  private 
houses  of  all  classes  were  filled  with  guests,  and  the  stately 
mansions  of  the  rich  and  noble  were  honored  with  the  sojourn  of 
knights,  and  lords,  and  priests  and  prelates.  Never  in  her  palmiest 
days,  not  even  when  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence,  called  the  estates 
together  there  for  consultation,  had  the  old  city  seen  a grander 
display,  or  a greater  number  of  distinguished  personages  assem- 
bled within  its  walls.  Men  of  noble  stature  and  lofty  bearing 
were  there  from  the  Irish  country  clad  in  the  graceful  costume 
of  their  race.  Chiefs  from  the  far  hills  of  Ulster,  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Connaught,  from  the  fertile  plains  of  Leinster  and  the 
golden  vein  of  Munster,  were  there  with  their  followers,  and 
clansmen  from  the  north  and  from  the  south,  from  the  east  and 
from  the  west — O’Reillys,  and  McMahons,  and  Maguires,  and 
Magennises  from  the  hills  and  vales  of  Ulster,  were  seen  in  fami- 
liar converse  with  McCarthys,  and  O’Connors,  and  O’Rourkes, 
and  twenty  other  0’s  and  Macs  from  the  other  Celtic  districts, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


181 


while,  distinct  alike  in  language  and  in  dress,  the  retainers  of 
the  Norman  nobles  and  gentlemen  walked  apart,  discoursing 
after  their  own  fashion,  rarely  or  never  mingling  with  the  Irish 
of  the  same  class.  Not  so,  however,  with  their  masters : for 
them  the  distinction  between  the  old  and  new  blood  seemed  no 
longer  to  exist — most  of  them  spoke  both  Irish  and  English, 
which  was  not  the  case  with  their  followers,  and  many  subjects  of 
interest  were  common  to  both  as  warrior  knights  and  nobles. 
Grouped  together  might  be  seen  a tall,  robust,  Celtic  chief  in 
iruis,  cochal,  and  barradh,  with  long  flowing  locks  (the  well- 
prized  coolin'),  a Norman  noble  from  the  Pale  in  dark-colored  tunic 
and  knee-breeches  with  a long  cloak  of  the  same  sober  hue  fas- 
tened close  around  his  neck,  his  strongly-marked  features 
shaded  by  a broad-leaved,  low-crowned  hat,  his  slighter  form 
and  generally  shorter  stature  contrasting  rather  unfavorably 
with  the  muscular  proportions  of  his  Celtic  neighbor.  With 
these  perchance  was  a marshal-looking  gentleman  whose  foreign 
aspect  and  sun- browned  features,  and  French  or  Spanish  cos- 
tume would  seem  to  point  him  out  as  of  different  origin  from 
either  of  the  others.  His  speech,  too,  was  marked  by  a foreign 
accent,  although  he  spoke  both  English  and  Irish,  the  latter 
better  and  more  fluently  than  the  former.  About  these  strangers 
the  chief  interest  seemed  to  gather,  and  their  “ tales  of  distant 
lands”  were  greedily  swallowed  alike  by  Gael  and  Norman,  few 
of  whom  had  ever  crossed  any  of  Ireland’s  four  seas.  Ecclesias- 
tics of  various  grades  were  mingled  with  the  groups,  clad  in 
cloak  and  cassock,  and,  stranger  still,  monks  and  friars  were 
there  in  the  habits  of  their  several  orders,  the  white  robe  of  the 
Dominican,  and  the  brown  habit  of  the  Franciscan,  and  the  gray 
gown  of  the  Augustinian  contrasting  chastely  with  the  gay  and 
many-colored  garments  of  the  Celtic  chiefs.  Such  sights  as 
this  were  for  ages  unseen  in  the  good  city  of  Kilkenny,  and  the 
people  were  almost  wild  with  joy,  and  full  of  the  hope  that  the 
dark  evil  day  was  passed  away  for  ever,  and  that  their  clergy  were 
thenceforward  to  walk  as  other  men  in  open  day  and  in 
their  proper  garments,  not  as  thieves  under  cover  of  the  night 
and  in  all  manner  of  strange  disguises.  From  end  to  end  the 
old  city  was  in  commotion.  Irishtown  and  Englishtown  all 


182 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  same ; the  very  boats  on  the  river  seemed  suddenly  instinct 
with  life,  so  gaily  and  so  cheerily,  and  with  so  much  bustle  did 
they  keep  shooting  hither  and  thither,  along  the  Nore  and  up 
the  Bregah,*  hither  and  thither,  to  and  fro,  so  that  a looker-on 
would  wonder  what  they  were  all  about,  or  what  maggot  had 
got  into  their  crazy  timbers.  Colors  were  floating,  too,  from 
every  tiny  mast,  the  gay  white  and  green  of  the  Confederates, 
a\d  the  same  colors  met  the  eye  in  all  directions  waving  in 
plumes  over  noble  brows,  in  drapery  suspended  from  the  upper 
windows  of  houses,  and  in  flags  flaunting  in  the  autumn  breeze 
on  the  highest  elevations  in  and  around  the  city.  It  was  only 
on  the  Castle,  Ormond’s  Castle,  that  the  royal  flag  of  England 
floated  in  solitary  state.  At  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  city, 
on  the  rival  hill,  the  national  colors  waved  defiance  from  the 
flag-staff  of  old  St.  Canice,  and  the  bells  of  that  stately  pile 
chimed  forth  at  times  a right  merry  peal  for  joy  that  religion 
was  again  paramount  in  the  good  old  city  of  the  Butlers. 

And  wherefore  all  this  joy  and  all  this  bustle  'l  why  was  the 
city  in  its  gala  dress,  and  the  citizens  all  in  a state  of  pleasurable 
excitement  1 wjiy,  because  the  grand  Assembly  of  the  Confeder- 
ates was  to  take  place  there  within  the  week,  and  all  was  in  a 
state  of  preparation  for  the  greatest  event  that  had  occurred  in 
Ireland,  perhaps  since  the  days  of  Brian  Boromhe. 

It  was  joy  to  hear  the  names  that  were  on  the  people’s  lips  as 
they  cheerily  chatted  on  the  streets  and  in  the  houses,  in  the 
workshops  and  the  hostelries,  and  wherever  men  came  together  for 
business  or  amusement.  The  house  chosen  for  the  meeting  of 
what  might  truly  be  called  the  National  Assembly  was  situate 
in  what  is  still  called  the  Coal  Market,  a portion  of  the  long  line 
of  street  which  under  one  name  or  another  intersects  the  entire 
length  of  the  city  from  the  Cathedral  to  the  Castle.  The  build- 
ing was  an  ancient  one  and  no  wise  imposing  in  its  character, 
although  it  was  the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Shea,  who  appears 

The  Bregah,  a small  tributary  of  the  Nore,  separates  the  new 
and  old  parts  of  the  city  commonly  known  as  Englishtown  and 
Irish  town. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


183 


to  have  lent  or  given  it  for  the  purpose.*  It  contained  on  the 
first  floor  a spacious  hall,  the  farther  end  of  which  was  slightly 
raised  above  the  rest,  and  that  was  apportioned  to  the  lords  lay 
and  spiritual,  who  had  also  a small  room  overhead  for  their  pri- 
vate consultation.  The  remainder  of  the  hall  was  for  the  use  of 
the  Commoners.  The  whole  was  lit  by  rows  of  high,  narrow, 
arched  windows,  and  its  general  character  was  rather  gloomy, 
all  the  better  adapted,  perhaps,  for  purposes  of  deliberation.  It 
had  a reverend  look,  that  old  hall,  and  although  without  any 
pretensions  to  grandeur  or  state,  when  fitted  up  on  that  memor- 
able occasion  and  decorated  with  national  devices  in  the  florid 
style  of  that  age,  it  presented  no  mean  appearance. 

For  many  days  previous  to  the  opening  of  the  Assembly,  the 
citizens  of  all  classes  were  watching  the  arrivals  with  all-absorb- 
ing interest.  The  name  and  title  of  each  was  duly  noted, 
together  with  the  style  and  quality  of  his  apparel,  the  number 
and  equipment  of  his  followers,  with  the  comparative  rank  and 
wealth  of  all  shrewdly  guessed  at  from  these  appendages..  By 
the  Norman  craftsmen  and  burgesses  of  the  Englishtown  of  Kil- 
kenny, the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  the  Pale  were  rated  far  above 
even  the  highest  chieftains  of  Gaelic  blood,  the  great  toparclis  of 
the  north  and  south.  Of  these,  Lord  Muskerry,  the  MacCartby 
of  former  days,  stood  the  highest  in  the  esteem  of  the  towns- 
people from  the  fact  of  his  being  the  brother-in-law  of  Lord  Or- 
mond, while  Mountgarret  on  the  other  hand,  notwithstanding  his 
being  a Butler,  lost  considerably  in  their  estimation,  because  he 
bad  had  the  great  Earl  of  Tyrone  for  his  father-in-law  Not  all 
the  glory  of  the  Butlers  could  efface,  in  the  minds  of  those  su- 
percilious Normans,  the  deep  disgrace  of  being  allied  to  an  Irish 
family. 

Exactly  the  reverse  was  the  case  beyond  the  Bregah  where,  in 
the  narrow  streets,  and  lanes  and  alleys  of  Irishtown,  dwelt 
those  of  the  old  blood,  whose  hatred  and  contempt  for  the 
stranger  and  “ the  upstart”  were  as  great  as  his  for  them.  In 
that  section  of  the  town,  it  was  Owen  Roe  and  Sir  Phelim 

* For  a further  account  of  this  venerable  edifice  and.  its  present 
condition,  see  Hall’s  Ireland , Vol  II.,  p 15. 


184 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


O’Neill,  O’Reilly,  McMahon,  McGennis,  O’Connor,  O’Sullivan  and 
all  such,  whose  arrival  was  most  carefully  noted,  and  all  that 
appertained  to  them  and  their  followers  discussed  and  comment- 
ed on  with  affectionate  pride.  The  fame  of  Owen  Roe  had  pene- 
trated even  there  and  all  were  anxious  to  have  a look  at  “ the 
chieftain  of  the  Red  Hand,”  the  hero  of  so  many  battles,  and 
the  successor,  it  was  hoped,  of  the  great  Hugh  who  had  all  but 
effected  the  liberation  of  Ireland. 

With  the  clergy  of  all  classes  Owen  O’Neill  seemed  just  as 
popular  as  with  the  people  of  the  old  blood.  There  were,  how- 
ever, a few  exceptions,  and  amongst  these  was  conspicuous,  how- 
ever it  happened,  Bishop  McMahon  of  Clogher  with  a certain 
Franciscan  friar  more  distinguished  for  worldly  wisdom  than  for 
any  virtue  commended  in  the  Gospel.  The  latter  individual, 
Father  Peter  Walsh  by  name,  manifested  from  the  first  a singu- 
lar coldness  towards  O’Neill,  though  why  or  wherefore  few  but 
himself  could  tell. 

The  days  preceding  the  opening  of  the  Assembly  passed 
quickly  and  pleasantly  with  most  of  the  Confederatesdn  friendly 
consultation,  in  visits  to  the  numerous  antiquities  and  places  of 
historic  note  so  profusely  scattered  through  the  dingy  lanes  and 
alleys  of  the  old  city,  and  most  pleasing  of  all,  in  the  renewal  of 
old  acquaintance  and  the  making  of  new,  between  men  drawn 
together  for  a common  object  and  bound  together  for  weal  or 
for  woe  by  a solemn  oath.  Those  who  had  grown  up  side  by 
side  in  the  dear  old  land  and  parted  as  boys  to  seek  abroad  that 
instruction  which  the  laws  denied  them  at  home,  met  again  in 
Kilkenny,  one  perhaps  a soldier  of  fortune,  the  other  a dis- 
tinguished ecclesiastic.  Officers  were  there  not  a few  who  had 
risen  together  step  by  step  in  the  service  of  some  foreign  prince, 
and  others  who  had  drawn  the  sword  on  opposite  sides  in  the 
wars  which  then  convulsed  the  continent.  In  Kilkenny  all  that 
was  forgotten : all  were  there  as  Irishmen,  to  give  the  mother 
country  and  her  sacred  cause  the  benefit  of  their  dear-bought 
experience,  and  to  place  at  her  service  the  swords  that  had 
carved  out  fame  and  mayhap  fortune  in  more  favored  lands. 
Priests,  too,  were  there  who  had  pored  over  the  same  ponder- 
ous volumes  in  early  boyhood  in  the  classic  halls  of  St.  Omers, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


185 


Salamanca  or  Louvain,  but  who,  parting  midway  in  their  course, 
went  to  enrich  far  distant  lands  with  the  sacred  lore  and  the 
priestly  virtues  drawn  from  those  venerable  founts.  But  wherever 
their  lot  was  cast,  whatsoever  their  position  or  the  nature  of 
their  calling  in  foreign  climes,  the  news  of  the  great  revolution 
going  on  in  Ireland  had  stirred  the  pulses  of  their  hearts,  and 
the  light  of  freedom  blazing  on  the  hill-tops  of  the  Green  Island 
had  reached  alike  the  soldier  in  his  tent,  the  priest  in  his  sanc- 
tuary, and  the  monk  in  his  cloister.  All  Europe  resounded  with 
accounts  more  or  less  exaggerated  of  what  was  going  forward  in 
the  Holy  Island  of  the  West,  and  the  news  of  the  great  national 
assembly  to  be  held  in  October  drew  the  sons  of  Ireland  and 
their  sons  home  from  every  point  of  the  compass. 

From  the  black  marble  steps  by  which  the  front  of  St,  Canice 
is  reached  a gallery  runs  along  one  side  of  the  building,  com- 
manding a fair  view  of  the  city,  and  the  river,  and  the  noble 
castle  of  the  Butlers,  making  altogether  a picture  of  rare 
scenic  beauty.  On  the  evening  immediately  preceding  the 
solemn  opening  of  the  Council,  or  (more  properly  speaking) 
Parliament,  four  notable  persons  stood  together  in  earnest  con- 
versation on  matters  appertaining  to  the  great  business  in  hand. 

One  of  these  was  no  less  a person  than  Malachy  O’ Kelly,  Arch- 
bishop of  Tuam,  the  same  zealous  and  patriotic  prelate  who,  a 
few  weeks  before,  had  denounced  the  powerful  de  Burgo  in  the 
midst  of  his  armed  retainers.  Near  him  stood  a Franciscan 
friar,  whose  somewhat  unmeaning  countenance  had  a look  of 
dogged  determination  that  might  be  set  down  as  obstinacy,  with 
more  than  a little  cunning.  Altogether  the  man  was  far  from 
pleasing  in  his  exterior,  presenting  in  face  and  form  a marked 
contrast  to  the  portly  and  frank-looking  Archbishop,  with  his 
quick,  earnest  glance  and  animated  countenance. 

One  of  the  others  was  Owen  Roe  O’Neill,  in  his  Celtic  costume, 
looking  as  calm  and  cool  as  though  nothing  of  moment  -were 
under  discussion — hearing  much  but  saying  little — and  watching 
through  his  half-closed  eyes  the  faces  of  those  around  him.  Near 
him,  leaning  carelessly  against  the  buttress  of  the  old  Cathedral, 
stood  a gentleman  of  soldierly  bearing,  whose  fine  oval  coun- 
tenance lost  somewhat  of  its  easy,  good  natured  expression  by 


186 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


reason  of  the  large  whiskers  and  moustache,  which,  although  no 
improvement  in  point  of  beauty,  gave  a more  martial  character 
to  the  wearer.  His  stout  and  rather  square-built  figure  was 
handsomely  attired  in  the  uniform  of  a French  officer  of  that 
day,  slashed  doublet  and  truncated  hose,  with  a cocked  hat  and 
a plume  of  snow  white  feathers.  This  was  Thomas  Preston,  a 
brother  of  the  late  Lord  Gormanstown,  who  had  been  many  years 
serving  in  the  French  army  to  the  great  advancement  of  his  name 
and  fame,  jf  not  fortune.  Like  O’Neill  he  had  gathered  together 
a large  number  of  Irish  officers,  his  brothers-in-arms  during  his 
career  in  France,  and  through  the  munificence  of  the  great 
Richelieu,  then  holding  the  helm  of  state  in  that  country, 
he  had  sailed  for  his  native  country  with  two  ships  of  war, 
bearing  a good  supply  of  arms  and  ammunition  for  the  use  of 
the  Confederate  Catholics.  About  the  middle  of  the  preceding 
month  of  September,  Thomas  Preston  had  given  the  good  peo- 
ple of  Wexford  a glad  surprise  when  he  sailed  into  their  harbor 
one  fine  day  with  his  French  ships  a.  d his  goodly  company  of 
Irish  officers  and  the  colors  of  the  Confederates  hoisted  so  briskly 
the  moment  the  vessels  neared  the v shore.  That  cheering 
event  had  been  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  Preston,  after 
enlarging  on  the  favorable  dispositions  of  the  great  Cardinal,  as 
evinced  by  this  first  magnificent  contribution,  turned  to  O’Neill 
with  a smile  of  affected  candor : 

“I  would  that  his  Catholic  Majesty  had  been  so  liberal. 
Methinks  it  was  a paltry  trick  he  played  you,  after  so  many  fine 
promises,  to  send  you  home  with  one  poor  brig — out  upon  so 
great  a sovereign  so  to  reward  so  valiant  a servant,  were  higher 
motive  wanting  for  his  generosity  !” 

“ There  spoke  the  French  prejudice,”  said  O’Neill  calmly ; 
“ you  little  know  the  royal  Philip,  an’  you  deem  that  ‘ one  poor 
brig’  the  sum  total  of  his  bounty  to  us.  Fair  and  soft,  you 
know,  Master  Preston,  go  far  in  a day,  and  m}'  royal  master  is 
by  nature  cautious  and  circumspective.” 

“ And  his  servant  is  like  unto  him,”  muttered  Preston  in  a 
half  audible  tone,  as  turning  away  he  affected  to  admire  the 
prospect  before  him,  albeit  that  nature’s  charms  had  few  or  no 
attractions  at  any  time  for  him  wanting  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


187 


files  arrayed  with  helm  and  blade 

And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing,” 

which  alone  have  beauty  for  the  soldier’s  eye.  Preston  had  a 
soldier’s  heart  and  a soldier’s  spirit,  for  most  of  his  life  had  been 
a soldier’s  life,  and  his  joys  and  pleasures  were  all  of  a martial 
character. 

O’Neill  eyed  him  a moment  from  the  elevation  of  his  superior 
height,  and  it  seemed  as  though  a biting  retort  rose  to  his  lips, 
but  it  came  not  forth,  for  seldom  indeed  was  it  that  passion  be- 
trayed him,  and  he  was  determined  that  no  petulance  of  his 
should  throw  a shade  on  the  brightness  of  the  path,  where  he 
trusted  that  Preston  and  he  should  walk  hand  in  hand  to  victory. 

The  Archbishop’s  keen  eye  had  been  observing  both,  and, 
laying  his  hand  on  O’Neill’s  shoulder,  he  said  in  Irish : 

“ Honor  and  glory  to  him  who  overcometh  self.” 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Preston  had  no  knowledge  whatever 
of  the  native  tongue,  but,  seeing  the  glow  of  satisfaction  on 
O’Neill’s  cheek,  he  was  at  no  loss  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
what  was  said,  and  his  hasty  temper  took  fire  at  what  he  consi- 
dered the  slight  put  upon  him. 

“ I need  hardly  inform  you,”  said  he,  “ my  Lord  Archbishop, 
that  your  language  is  a stranger  to  my  tongue — as  I am,  I per- 
ceive, to  your  counsels.  My  presence  is  a burthen  that  must 
needs  be  removed.  Give  your  Grace  good  evening  !” 

He  was  turning  away  when  the  Archbishop,  with  a significant 
glance  at  O’Neill,  tendered  his  apology  for  speaking  in  Irish,  as- 
suring Master  Preston  that  he  never  dreamed  of  his  being  unac- 
quainted with  that  tongue. 

“ It  is  passing  strange  an’  he  be,”  said  the  Franciscan,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time ; “ why,  my  Lord  of  Ormond  doth  affect  that 
tongue  and  speaketh  it  as  a true  Milesian  lord.  Even  my  lady 
the  Countess  hath  a full  knowledge  of  it.  and  I know  not  but 
their  children  all  speak  it.”  « 

The  prelate  smiled,  and  his  smile  was  full  of  arch  meaning, 
while  O’Neill  fixed  a wondering  glance  on  the  heavy  features  of 
the  friar. 

“ I would  it  were  otherwise,  Father  Peter  Walsh,”  said  the 


188 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Archbishop;  “if  Master  Preston  had  more  knowledge  of  our 
tongue,  and  what  concerneth  us,  and  Lord  Ormond  less,  it  were 
all  the  better  for  us.” 

He  is  a dangerous  enemy,  that  same  Ormond,”  said  Preston 
abruptly,  “ more  so,  as  I take  it,  than  Inchiquin  or  Broghill, 
seeing  that  he  carrieth  a double  face,  whereas  the  others  show 
themselves  such  as  they  are.” 

“ Your  opinion  Ys  mine,”  Master  Preston,  said  the  prelate 
warmly,  “ and  I rejoice  to  find  you  so  much  alive  to  that  lord’s 
duplicity.  You  will  be  the  better  able  to  cope  with  him — he  is 
the  serpent  in  the  grass,  take  my  word  for  it !” 

“ My  lord ! my  lord !”  said  the  Franciscan,  roused  to  sudden 
energy  by  this  stricture  on  the  man  whom  he  strangely  enough 
had  chosen  for  a patron,  “my  Lord  Archbishop,  it  grievetli  me 
to  hear  you  speak  in  such  wise  of  the  only  powerful  friend  we 
have  amongst  the  Protestants  ! Surely,  it  is  ungrateful.  Surely, 
surely  it  is.  Now,  General  O’Neill,  you  and  Master  Preston 
being  in  a manner  strangers  in  this  land,  are,  as  it  were,  in  the 
dark  concerning  many  things  that  ye  ought  to  know.  As  a 
priest  of  the  Catholic  Church  I solemnly  assure  you  that  were 
this  unhappy  disturbance  left  to  my  Lord  of  Ormond  and  my 
Lord  of  Clanrickarde,  they  would  make  all  things  smooth  and 
pleasant  for  us,  ay,  marry!  and  we  should  soon  have  all  we 
want — but,  woe  is  me ! woe  is  me ! their  pacific  counsels  are  un- 
heeded, their  warning  voices  unheard,  and  rash  men  are  hurry- 
ing the  nation  into  the  vortex  of  rebellion,  unknowing  how  to 
draw  it  forth  again  or  quell  the  storm  themselves  have  raised !” 

“ Father  Peter  Walsh,”  said  the  Archbishop  sternly,  “ your 
infatuation  with  regard  to  Lord  Ormond  becometh  intolerable, 
and  hath  even  now  carried  you  beyond  the  bounds  of  Christian 
decency.  I hereby  pronounce  what  you  have  said  untrue  in 
every  particular,  and  do  solemnly  assever  that  the  two  men  you 
have  named  are  the  direst  enemies  of  our  sacred  cause.” 

“ What!  Clanrickarde  as  bad  as  the  renegade  Ormond'?”  said 
O’Neill  in  surprise;  “ hath  your  Grace  then  no  hope  of  his  final 
co-operation '?” 

“No  more  than  I have  of  Ormond’s — he  hath  made  unto  him- 
self an  idol,  the  which  is  Charles  of  England,  and  whosoever 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


189 


boweth  not  with  him  before  that  shrine  is  a rebel  and  a traitor 
in  his  esteem,  be  his  standing  in  God’s  Church  what  it  may — 
nay,  Father  Walsh,  I charge  you  say  no  more — before  God,  I 
am  sick  of  your  twaddle 

“ And  I take  God  to  witness,”  said  the  pertinacious  friar,  “ that 
your  Grace  and  all  who  hold  your  opinions  do  these  honorable 
lords  foul  injustice  in  that !” 

“ You  are  either  a fool  or  a knave,  Peter  Walsh,”  said  a dark- 
visaged  man  who  just  then  joined  the  party. 

“ A Franciscan  could  expect  no  better  from  one  of  your  or- 
der,” replied  Walsh  with  a disdainful  glance  at  the  black  robe 
of  the  Jesuit,  for  such  the  other  was.  “ What  do  you  know  of 
this  matter  V* 

“ As  much  as  you — or  it  may  be  more,”  said  the  son  of  Igna- 
tius pointedly ; “ that  which  I know  I say,  and  I tell  you,  in 
the  presence  of  his  Grace  of  Tuam  and  these  gallant  gentlemen, 
what  I would  tell  Ulick  Burke  were  he  within  reach  of  my  voice, 
to  wit,  that  his  heart  is  as  hard  against  us  as  Murrough  O'Brien’s, 
and  the  enemies  of  our  faith  have  no  more  zealous  supporter  than 
he.  Would  to  Heaven  he  would  cease  to  profane  the  name  of 
Catholic  whereto  he  hath  no  other  title  than  an  empty  sound ” 

“Ha!  I know  you  now!”  cried  Walsh;  “methought  your  face 
was  familiar — you  are ” 

“It  matters  little  who  I am,”  said  the  Jesuit  wTaving  his  hand 
authoritatively  ; 11 1 know  you,  too,  Peter  Walsh,  and  so,  I trust, 
do  most  of  the  Confederates.” 

A messenger  here  arrived  from  the  Bishop  requesting  his 
Grace  of  Tuam,  General  O’Neill,  and  Colonel  Preston  to  repair 
immediately  to  his  house  where  their  presence  was  urgently 
needed. 


190 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

“ Were  his  oyes  open  ? Yes,  and  his  mouth,  too  ; — 

Surprise  has  this  effect,  to  make  one  dumb, 

Yet  leave  the  gate,  which  eloqueuce  slips  through, 

As  wide  as  if  a long  speech  were  to  come.” 

Byron. 

“He  who  would  free  from  malice  p^ss  his  days 
Must  live  obscure,  and  never  merit  praise.” 

Gay’s  Epistles. 

On  reaching  the  Bishop’s  house*  our  party  found  a number 
of  the  Confederate  chiefs  assembled,  and  all  eagerly  engaged  dis- 
cussing some  event  apparently  of  great  importance.  In  a large 
arm-chair,  near  one  of  the  high,  narrow  windows,  sat  the  aged 
Bishop  of  the  diocese,  an  old,  old  man  with  a worn  and  wasted 
countenance,  and  a form  bowed  down  beneath  the  double 
weight  of  age  and  sorrow,  for  the  episcopal  office  was  an  entail 
of  misery  in  the  dark  days  on  which  David  Rotlie’s  episcopate 
had  fallen.  There  was  energy  and  spirit,  nevertheless,  in  the 
fine  old  eyes  which  had  once  been  bright,  and  there  was  firm 
determination  about  the  sunken  mouth  and  the  thin  colorless  lips. 
By  the  side  of  the  Bishop  stood  a tall,  dignified  personage  with 
a strongly  marked  Norman  countenance  and  that  unmistakeable 
something  in  his  air  and  bearing  which  indicates  rank  and  h gh 
position.  Something  there  was  about  the  gentleman’s  appearance 
which  reminded  one  of  poor  Maguire  as  we  first  saw  him,  although 
he  who  now  stands  before  us  is  older  evidently  by  several  years. 
There  is  a firmness,  too,  and  a certain  military  boldness  about 
the  face  and  figure  which  never  characterized  the  chieftain  of 
Fermanagh,  and  which  give  you  the  impression  df  a self-relying, 

* The  family  mansion  of  the  Rothes  is  situate  in  the  Coal  market, 
exact'y  opposite  the  house  in  which  the  Confederates  met. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


191 


independent  spirit,  capable  of  high  and  daring  enterprize.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  Bishop’s  chair,  and  leaning  familiarly  on 
its  arm,  stood  Bishop  McMahon,  while  in  front  of  him  stood 
Lord  Fingal,  his  thin  sharp  features  cold  and  calm  as  though 
nothing  could  ever  stir  the  heart  within  him.  By  his  side  stood 
Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  looking  as  fierce  as  if  he  meant  to  attack 
somebody  on  the  instant. 

“ My  Lord  of  Tuam,”  said  Bishop  Rothe  as  soon  as  he  caught 
sight  of  that  dignitary,  “ we  have  good  news  for  you — come 
hither  ! General  O'Neill,  and  Colonel  Preston,  here  is  my  lord  of 
Castlehaven  come  to  join  us ” 

“ Nay,  my  lord,”  said  the  tall  gentleman  by  his  side  after  ex- 
changing a courtly  bow  with  the  newly  arrived  prelate  and  the 
two  officers,  “ nay,  my  lord,  I,  as  yet,  hold  myself  free  to  pro- 
nounce on  that  matter — I would  fain ” 

“ Keep  the  middle  course,”  put  in  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill ; 
“ methinks  your  lordship  hath  pursued  it  over  long  for  all  you 
have  made  of  it.  Had  you  come  out  boldly  as  we  did  at  the 
start,”  Castlehaven  smiled,  “ you  would  have  laid  us  under  obli- 
gations— your  thanks  from  Ormond  and  the  Justices  being  but 
small  in  any  case — whereas  now,  albeit  that  we  are  glad  to  see 
you  here,  we  know  full  well  that  you  come  because  you  cannot 
help  it !” 

“ Truly  it  must  be  a hard  necessity,”  said  the  archbishop, 
“ that  threw  so  loyal  a nobleman  as  Lord  Castlehaven  into  our 
rebellious  ranks.” 

There  was  the  slightest  possible  touch  of  irony  in  these  words 
which  the  peer  well  understood,  and  with  a heightened  color  he 
replied  : “I  acknowledge  it,  my  lord  archbishop  ! I am  a loyal 
man,  and  desirous  above  all  of  upholding  my  sovereign’s  authority 
in  this  realm.” 

“ So  are  we  all,”  said  Archbishop  O’Kelly  promptly,  “ so  are 
we  all  loyal  men — God  forbid  we  were  not — an’  the  king’s 
majesty  were  only  as  loyal  to  us  as  we  are  to  him,  our  differ- 
ences were  but  small.” 

“ And  yet,  my  reverend  lord,  there  was  no  lack  of  haste  in 
flying  to  arms  !” 

“ Pardon  me,  Lord  Castlehaven,”  said  Owen  Roe,  speaking 


192 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


for  the  first  time,  and  with  his  usual  calmness  of  demeanor, 
“ pardon  me  in  that  I cannot  think  as  you  do  concerning  that 
matter.  In  my  poor  judgment,  no  nation  under  heaven  hath 
shown  so  muc'h  endurance  as  this  of  ours  in  regard  to  those 
Stuart  princes — before  God  this  day  I have  thought  many  a time 
that  patience  amongst  the  poor  oppressed  Catholics  of  Ireland 
did  overstep  the  bounds  of  virtue — had  they  kept  the  peace 
much  longer,  I had  turned  my  back  on  them  as  a cowardly 
and  pusillanimous  race  with  no  heart  to  help  themselves,  and 
therefore  unworthy  of  help  from  God  or  man  !” 

Castlehaven  made  no  answer,  but  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  O’Neill’s 
face  with  a keen  and  searching  look,  as  though  anxious  to  see 
farther  into  a book  so  well  covered. 

“ Be  it  as  it  may,”  said  Bishop  McMahon  in  his  quick  way, 
“ we  rejoice  to  see  Lord  Castlehaven  here,  and  do  bid  him 

heartily  welcome  in  the  name  of  the  Confederate  Catholics ” 

“ Much  cause  have  we  to  thank  the  worshipful  Justices,”  said 
the  incorrigible  knight  of  Kinnard ; “ had  they  given  his  honor- 
able lordship  a better  return  for  his  loyal  service  we  might  e’en 
have  whistled  for  him,  and  danced  to  our  own  music — ho  ! ho  ! 
ho ! a pretty  reward  truly ! — he  spoke  them  fair  and  bowed 
himself  in  and  out  of  their  presence,  and  used  many  hard  words 
doubtless  in  regard  to  us  poor  Popish  recusants  and  rebels,  and 
lo ! they  send  their  minions  and  burn  his  houses  and  lay  waste 
his  lands — but  kicking  doth  agree  well  with  some  dogs,  and 
straightway  my  lord  of  Castlehaven,  finding  himself  accused  of 
treasonable  practices  (bless  the  mark  !),  hurries  off  post-haste  to 
Dublin  to  justify  himself  in  the  sight  of  Parsons  and  Borlase — 
by  my  knighthood,  Castlehaven  ! they  served  you  right  to  clap 

you  in  prison  as  a traitor* — you  were  a traitor ” 

“ How,  Sir  Phelim!  what  meaneth  this  language?”  said  the 
Earl  haughtily. 

“ I say  again  you  were  a traitor,  my  lord  earl ! a traitor  to 
your  God  and  to  your  country  ! They  served  you  right,  I tell 
you !” 

* For  an  account  of  Lord  Castlehaven’ s case,  and  the  means  where- 
by he  was  driven  into  rebellion,  see  his  own  Memoirs , pp.  20-30. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


193 


“ Sir  Phelim ! Sir  Phelim !”  said  Bishop  Rothe,  raising  his 
finder  by  way  of  rebuke 

“ I crave  your  lordship’s  pardon,  an’  I speak  too  warmly,” 
said  Sir  Phelim ; “it  is  a way  we  have  amongst  the  hills  of 
Tyr-Owen.” 

“ Such  fashion  of  speech  is  not  to  my  liking,”  said  Castlehaven 
coldly  ; “ methinks  it  is  out  of  place  on  this  occasion  !” 

“ Surely  it  is,  my  lord,”  said  Owen  Roe  ; “ we  are  here  to  de- 
liberate for  the  common  good,  not  to  twit  each  other  on  things 
past.  I pray  you  excuse  my  worthy  kinsman  in  that  he  cracks 
his  jokes  so  as  to  leave  the  edges  oversharp  !” 

“ I pray  you  let  your  kinsman  speak  for  himself,  Master 
Spaniard,”  said  Phelim  shortly ; “ an’  he  choo  e to  tell  his 
thoughts  more  freely  than  others  it  is  no  business  of  yours.  I 
but  meant  to  make  known  to  my  lord  of  Castlehaven  and  these 
other  lords  and  genth  men  who  are  not  of  our  blood,  that  we  of  the 
Irishry  can  see  as  far  into  the  mill-stone  as  he  that  picks  it.  No 
offence,  I hope,  to  the  noble  earl  who,  an’  he  is  pleased  to  lend 
us  a hand,  may  find  Phelim  O’Neill  as  true  a friend  as  though 
his  speech  were  framed  in  more  courtly  fashion  !” 

The  frown  vanished  quickly  from  the  lordly  brow  of  Castle- 
haven, and  he  said  with  a bland  smile  : “ I will  frankly  own,  my 
lords  and  gallant  gentlemen,  that  the  Justices  have  left  no  stone 
unturned  to  drive  me  to  this  step,  the  which  I take  it  was  their 
purpose  throughout.” 

“ So  it  was  with  all  of  us,  my  lord,”  observed  Fingal ; “ we  of 
the  Pale  were,  as  you  well  know,  right  loyally  disposed,  and 

did  make  advances  towards  the  Lords  Justices ” 

“ Advances !”  repeated  Sir  Phelim  in  a contemptuous  tone, 
while  Owen  Roe  and  the  two  prelates  of  Irish  blood  could  not 
help  smiling ; “ we  all  know  what  manner  of  advances  they  were, 
soliciting  arms  to  use'against  us  wild  Irishry — the  which  were  no 

great  benefit  to  you  when  you  got  them ” 

“ Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  I protest  against  this  insulting  language,” 
said  Fingal  angrily,  while  the  bishops  strove  by  signs  to  close 
the  knight’s  mouth  ; “ an’  we  petitioned  for  arms  it  was  for  our 
own  defence,  as  God  he  knoweth  !” 

“ For  your  own  defence! — truly,  my  Lord  Fingal,  you  must 
19 


194 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


take  us  for  fools ! — was  it  in  his  own  defence  that  Talbot  of 
Malahide  marched  forth  against  the  brave  clans  of  Wicklow,  as 
it  were,  to  finish  Coote’s  work  7 Bah  ! such  Catholics  are  as  so 
many  festering  sores  in  the  body — I would  to  heaven  I might 
deal  with  them!  I vow  to  God  I would  sooner  measure  swords 
with  one  of  your  Clanrickardes  or  Talbots,  or  such  like  men, 
than  the  blackest  Puritan  in  the  English  Parliament !” 

“ Hear  you  that,  Father  Walsh  7”  said  Preston,  who  had  not  yet 
spoken  ; “ but  what ! the  Franciscan  hath  vanished — and  the 
Jesuit,  too !” 

“ Not  so,  colonel,”  said  Owen  Roe,  pointing  to  another  group 
of  which  the  dark-visaged  son  of  Loyola  was  the  centre  ; “ he 
is  enlightening  Philip  O’Reilly  and  Owen  O'Rourke  on  the 
atrocities  perpetrated  in  Dublin  prisons — by  my  life  he  speaks 
as  one  who  had  seen  it  all — what  manner  of  man  may  he  be, 
for  I heard  him  half  an  hour  since  bearing  testimony  against  the 
Galway  Earl  iii  the  same  oracular  fashion.  How  cometh  he  to 
know  all  these  things  and  to  speak  of  them  as  an  eye-witness  7” 
He  had  addressed  himself  to  the  Bishop  and  the  latter  replied 
with  a careless  glance  at  the  Jesuit : “ He  is,  in  sooth,  a far- 
seeing  man,  and  a clear-headed — otherwise.  I see  or  know  no- 
thing worth  remarking.  But  where  is  Father  Walsh  7 Came 
he  not  hither  with  your  Grace  7”  addressing  the  archbishop. 

“ Of  a surety,  my  lord,  he  followed  us  in,  but  I see  him  not 
anywhere  present!” — and  the  prelate  stretched  himself  to  his 
full  height  to  look  around  the  room— “ no,  truly,  I see  him  not!” 
“ An’  your  Grace  seeketh  Father  Peter  Walsh,”  said  a bene- 
volent-looking prelate  of  middle  age,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
a quiet  conference  with  Sir  Morgan  Cavanagh  and  Bishop 
McSweeny  of  Kilmore;  “I  saw  him  but  late  busily  engaged 
writing  as  I passed  through  one  of  the  Bishop’s  parlors.” 

“ Writing ! — humph !”  and  the  two  prelates  exchanged  glances, 
and  both  looked  significantly  at  Castlehaven.  None  of  the  Con- 
federates who  knew  the  friar  were  surprised  to  hear  that  a dis- 
patch was  sent  off  that  same  evening  to  Lord  Ormond  from  the 
gate  of  the  Franciscan  Abbey.  Indeed  Father  Peter  took  little 
pains  to  conceal  his  devotion  to  that  lord,  deeming  it  rather  a 
proof  of  his  religion  and  patriotism  than  otherwise. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


195 


Whilst  the  scene  just  described  was  passing  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  one  of  a different  kind  was  going  on  at  the  other.  Alone, 
in  the  midst  of  that  animated  crowd,  old  Lorcan  Maguire  stood 
like  the  spirit  of  the  past  gazing  around  him  with  eyes  of  won- 
der, a pleased  expression  on  his  wrinkled,  yet  still  commanding 
countenance.  His  nephew,  Roderick,  who  was  also  in  the  room, 
had  just  left  him  to  speak  with  Colonel  Preston  and  Sir  John 
Burke  at  a neighboring  window,  and  the  old  man  looked  so 
lonely  that  Hugh  Byrne  was  crossing  the  room  to  engage  him 
in  conversation,  when  all  of  a sudden  he  started  off  with  the 
lightness  of  early  youth  and  disappeared  through  an  opposite 
doorway,  where  a dark  narrow  passage  led  to  the  main  hall  of 
the  building. 

A hearty  laugh  from  the  good-humored  colonel  attracted  gen- 
eral attention,  as  he  in  turn  stood  alone  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
gazing  down  the  passage. 

“ By  Our  Lady,  Rory,”  said  he  addressing  Maguire,  “ that 
venerable  uncle  of  yours  hath  a flea  in  his  bonnet — never  saw  I 
man  of  his  age  tramp  so  lightly  as  he  hath  done  but  now  from 
this  room.  Here  did  I cross  the  room  to  have  a talk  with  him  on 
matters  appertaining  to  the  other  world,  and  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  he  flew— ay ! faith,  flew — through  yonder  door — think 
you  he  saw  a spirit  I” 

“ I pray  you  heed  him  not,”  said  the  attached  nephew  ; “ he 
hath  odd  ways  at  times  and  doeth  things  that  perchance  no  one 
else  would  do,  but  an’  you  knew  him  as  I do,  Hugh,  you  would 
respect  even  his  oddities and  the  terror  of  Enniskillen,  the 
fierce  young  avenger  of  Maguire’s  wrongs,  shamed  not  to  raise 
his  hand  and  wipe  away  a tear.  Anxious  to  attract  attention 
from  his  uncle’s  movements,  whatever  their  object  might  be,  he 
hastily  resumed  the  thread  of  discourse,  inviting  O’Byrne  to 
listen  to  Preston's  account  of  Father  Wadding’s  reception  on  a 
late  occasion  at  the  Court  of  Versailles,  when  the  great  Cardinal 
pledged  himself  before  all  the  diplomatic  corps  to  see  justice 
done  to  Ireland.  This  interesting  recital  drew  a crowd  of  the 
deputies  around  Preston,  Lord  Castlehaven  among  the  rest,  and, 
by  the  time  it  was  ended,  he  had  all  but  made  up  his  mind  to 
join  the  Confederates. 


196 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“You  will  do  well,  my  lord  earl,”  said  Nicholas  French,  the 
wise  and  learned  Bishop  of  Ferns,  to  whom  he  had  specially 
addressed  himself,  “ Look  around  this  room — note  well  the  lords 
and  gentlemen  and  priests  and  prelates  in  it  assembled — yet  of 
a surety  they  be  but  a third  or  so  of  those  whom  the  morrow 
will  bring  together  for  solemn  deliberation — bethink  you  if  the 
cause  upheld  by  all  the  chief  men  of  the  Irish  Catholics,  as  wrell 
clerical  as  lay,  ay ! even  at  the  point  of  the  sword  and  to  their 
grievous  and  unspeakable  privation  of  worldly  goods,  can  be  a 
bad  one  I The  bare  idea  is  absurd,  and  unworthy  a moment’s 
entertainment.  Make  up  your  mind  at  once,  then,  my  lord  of 
Castlehaven,  leave  worldly  considerations  behind  as  so  many  of 
your  friends  have  done  even  now,  and  girding  on  your  armor  for 
God  and  poor  bleeding  Ireland,  win  fame  and  honor,  and,  above 
all,  the  approval  of  your  own  conscience ! In  God’s  name,  my 
dear  son,  do  as  I tell  you,  to  the  end  that  at  the  great  accounting 
day  this  my  admonition  may  not  rise  against  you  in  judgment !” 

“ I will  take  the  rules,  then,  and  the  written  oath  to  my 
lodgings,”  said  the  Earl,  “ and  consider  them  over  night,  begging 
the  favor  of  your  lordship’s  prayers  that  I may  be  directed  from 
on  high  what  course  to  take.” 

Whilst  this  was  passing  within  the  room,  Lorcan  Maguire  had 
darted  down  the  passage  in  the  wake  of  a muffled  figure  whose 
attire,  as  well  as  he  could  judge  from  the  dim  light,  was  the 
coarse  frieze  of  a Franciscan,  with  the  high  narrow  hood 
drawn  over  the  face.  This  was  the  apparition  whose  beck  had 
drawn  the  old  man  from  the  room  so  inopportunely  for  the 
Wicklow  chief. 

It  was  a youthful  face,  although  a haggard  one,  that  looked  up 
at  the  old  man  from  under  the  hood  when,  panting  after  his  race, 
Lorcan  came  to  a stand.  The  light  was  dim,  so  that  objects  were 
barely  discernible,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had 
seen  the  face  before  and  the  glance  of  the  upturned  eye  made 
him  quail  he  knew  not  why. 

“ Father,”  said  he  after,  a moment’s  awkward  silence,  “ I would 
know  your  pleasure.” 

A wan  smile  flitted  across  the  face  in  the  hood  at  the  word 
“ father,”  but  it  vanished  in  an  instant,  and  a soft  musical  voice 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


197 


spoke : “ Doth  Master  Lorcan  Maguire  forget  the  head  of  his 
house,  or  hath  he  no  bowels  for  the  son  of  his  brother  languish- 
ing in  a foreign  land  ?” 

“ Friar,  I do  not !”  said  the  aged  chief  with  a convulsive 
start ; “ by  my  right  hand,  I would  give  my  life  an  hundred 
times  over  to  see  Connor  Maguire  chase  the  roe  as  of  old  on 
Fermanagh  hills — or  better  still,  to  see  his  youthful  valor  wielded 
against  the  foe — forget  Connor  ! my  poor  Connor,  whom  I first 
taught  to  cast  a javelin  or  bend  a bow — stranger,  as  soon  would 
I forget  my  own  heart.” 

“ It  is  well — I knew  it.  I will  tell  you,  then,  mine  errand 
hither.  Brave  and  wise  old  man,  I .have  thought  of  a plan  by 
which  your  nephew  and  mayhap  his  companion  may  be  set  at 
liberty.” 

“ You  have  7 Mother  of  God ! let  me  hear  it !” 

“ Come  farther  this  way,  then — indeed  I think  it  were  best 
seek  a place  of  greater  privacy  before  my  lips  utter  the  words 
which,  heard  by  other  ears  than  yours,  might  do  evil  rather  than 
good.  Follow  me,  an’  you  would  hear  more  !” 

Gliding  out  into  the  open  air,  the  monk,  as  he  appeared  to  be, 
moved  swiftly  along  the  street,  closely  followed  by  Lorcan,  till 
reaching  the  gaping  arch  of  a once  stately  castellated  building, 
then  in  ruins,  he  entered  what  had  been  the  hall  and  Lorcan 
after  him. 

“ Uncle  of  Connor  Maguire,”  said  the  muffled  figure,  “ would 
you,  for  his  sake,  venture  into  the  great  English  capital  7” 

“ Why,  truly,  stranger,  it  doth  seem  like  thrusting  one’s  head 
into  the  lion’s  mouth,  but,  natheless,  could  I thereby  do  aught 
towards  Connor’s  liberation — marry,  my  old  blood  runs  merrily 
at  the  thought.  Monk  ! — boy ! — or  whatsoever  thou  art” — and 
the  impulsive  old  man  seized  his  companion’s  hand  and  bent 
eagerly  forward — “ tell  me  only  how  I can  serve  poor  Connor, 
and  see  if  I shrink  from  any  peril !” 

“ The  peril  will  not  be  yours  alone,”  said  the  stranger  quietly ; 
“peril  there  will  be,  I deny  it  not,  but  another  will  bear  the 
brunt  <*f  it.  It  is  but  for  your  company  and  the  protectian  of 
yaur  reverend  age  I ask  you !” 


198 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ How ! what  am  I to  think  V ’ said  the  old  man  drawing 
hack. 

“ The  spirits  will  tell  you  what  to  think  before  the  time  of 
starting,”  said  the  monk  in  a lialf-serious,  half-jesting  tone  ; “ I 
have  heard  that  Lord  Maguire  hath  creatures  of  air  to  watch 
over  him,  so  trusting  in  their  good  offices,  and  those  of  the  wise 
seer  of  Enniskillen,  I will  dare  all  things,  yea,  even  the  bolts 
and  bars  of  the  terrible  Tower  of  Loudon  ! Fare  you  well, 
more  than  friend,  Heaven  have  you  in  its  keeping  till  we  meet 
again.” 

He  was  gone  before  Lorcan  could  question  him  farther,  and 
the  old  man  returned  like  one  in  a dream  to  the  Bishop’s  house 
pondering  deeply  on  what  had  past. 

Meanwhile  the  foundation  of  much  evil  had  been  laid  unwit- 
tingly by  those  most  devoted  to  the  national  cause.  Many  of 
the  Confederates  had  dropped  off  singly  or  in  groups,  some  for 
the  dispatch  of  business,  some  in  search  of  amusement.  Lord 
Muskerry  and  Lord  Mountgarret,  having  only  then  heard  of 
Castlehaven’s  arrival,  had  just  made  their  appearance,  and  it 
was  clear  from  the  manner  in  which  the  peer  received  their 
enthusiastic  welcome,  that,  being  of  his  own  order,  he  placed 
the  greater  value  on  their  friendship.  When  the  room  was 
thinned,  as  we  have  said,  it  so  happened  that  most  of  those  who 
remained  were  either  prelates  or  distinguished  laymen,  and  when 
the  shades  of  evening  began  to  gather  abound  Bishop  Rothe 
invited  all  present  to  partake  of  his  evening  meal : 

“ Frugal  ye  will  find  it,”  he  said,  “my  lords  and  noble  gentle- 
men, but  with  such  good  company  it  wilLpass  pleasantly.” 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  leaning  heavily  on  a gold-headed  stick 
which  had  been  resting  by  the  side  of  his  chair.  The  two  gen- 
tlemen nearest  to  him  at  the  moment  immediately  stepped  for- 
ward to  offer  their  support,  and  as  ill  fortune  would  have  it,  who 
should  they  be  but  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  and  Thomas  Preston.  Al- 
though the  latter  was  the  first  to  offer  his  arm,  the  aged  bishop 
turned  to  O’Neill,  and  with  a paternal  smile  placed  his  arm  with- 
in his,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  beaming  eyes.  The  apol- 
ogetic bow  with  which  he  acknowledged  Preston’s  civility  was 
far  from  satisfying  that  officer,  although  he  turned  away  with  an 


i 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


199 


air  of  assumed  indifference.  There  was  wounded  pride  and 
more  than  that  in  the  look  which  he  cast  on  O’Neill,  and  Owen 
said  within  himself:  “I  much  fear  there  is  mischief  in  that 
glance.  Surely  he  cannot  owe  me  a grudge  because  the  bishop 
took  my  arm  instead  of  his.  That  were  mean  indeed  and  all 
unworthy  so  gallant  a soldier.” 

Yet  so  it  was.  From  that  hour,  the  irrascible  scion  of  the 
house  of  Gormanstown  never  failed  to  cherish  a secret  dislike 
towards  O’Neill,  a dislike  which  all  through  the  pending  strug- 
gle showed  itself  in  various  ways  to  the  serious  injury  of  the 
cause  for  which  both  fought  so  well. 

“ What  could  have  induced  his  lordship  to  give  so  marked  a 
preference  to  the  northern  leader  V'  inquired  Castlehaven  of  the 
venerable  Bishop  of  Ferns  as  they  left  the  room  together. 

“ Truly  I know  not,  my  lord  earl,”  replied  the  prelate ; “ an’ 
it  were  as  thou  sayest,  the  which  I saw  not,  I could  give  no  otllbr 
reason  than  this,  that  my  right  reverend  brother  had  the  happi- 
ness of  administering  the  Bread  of  Life  to  General  O’Neill  this 
morning,  whilst  Colonel  Preston  and  many  of  the  other  lords 
and  gentlemen  were  a-strolling  through  Ormond’s  grounds.” 

“ Humph !”  said  the  soldierly  peer  with  a smile  of  dubious 
meaning,  “ then  O’Neill  is  somewhat  of  a devotee — and  it  would 
seem  that  character  is  in  favor  here — perchance  more  so  than 
high  estate  or  military  experience.” 

“ So  should  it  be,  my  lord,”  responded  the  calm  and  ever-pru- 
dent  Nicholas  Ft’ench ; “ in  an  assembly  of  Catholics,  met  for  such 
a purpose  as  ours,  and  trusting  not  in  our  own  might  but  in  the 
justice  of  our  cause,  it  is  surely  expedient  for  all,  as  well  lay  as 
spiritual  persons,*  to  invoke  the  God  of  battles  by  constant 
prayer,  and  the  frequent  reception  of  the  Sacraments!” 

Castlehaven  said  no  more,  for  they  just  then  entered  the 
bishop’s  homely  eating-room,  where  the  frugal  repast  was 
already  spread,  awaiting  their  coming. 


200 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

“We  have  cherish’d  fair  hopes,  we  have  plotted  brave  schemes, 
We  have  lived  till  we  find  them  illusive  as  dreams; 
******* 

And  the  steps  we  have  climb’d  have  departed  like  sand.* 

Epes  Sargent. 

“ This  leader  was  of  knowledge  great 
Either  for  charge  or  for  retreat ; 

He  knew  when  to  fall  on,  pell  mell, 

To  fall  back  and  retreat  as  well.” 

Butler’s  Hudib'ras. 

The  twenty-fourth  day  of  October,  1642,  is  one  of  the  few  in 
the  latter  ages  of  Ireland’s  history  on  which  the  eye  loves  to 
dwell.  It  was  on  that  day  that  the  grand  assembly  of  tho 
Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland  first  sat  as  a legislative  body, 
and  we  may  be  pardoned  surely  if  we  look  back  with  melan- 
choly pride  on  that  vision  of  departed  glory,  suggestive  as  it  is 
of  what  Ireland  might  be  and  may  yet  be.  The  Confederation 
may  be  renewed  and  fixed  on  a more  permanent  basis  in  some 
fortunate  contingency  of  the  national  affairs,  and  a future  gene- 
ration may  see  that  sight,  perhaps  within  the  walls  of  the  me- 
tropolis itself,  but  never  again  may  be  seen  in  Ireland  another 
assembly  like  that  whose  remembrance  invests  Kilkenny  with 
such  varied  and  profound  interest.  The  distinctive  features  of 
that  scene  belonged  to  that  age,  and  with  it  have  passed  away 
for  ever.  The  time  and  the  circumstances  were  such  as  to  give 
that  national  assembly  a character  of  peculiar  interest  as  well 
as  importance.  The  Normans  of  the  Pale  and  the  ancient  Irish 
wore  still  two  distinct  races,  distinct  alike  in  appearance,  cos- 
tume, manners  and  language.  The  chieftains  of  the  old  blood 
still  retained  their  ancient  and  most  picturesque  costume,  while 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


201 


the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  the  Pale  were  clad  in  the  sober  and 
rather  stiff,  yet  not  ungraceful  habiliments  usually  worn  by  the 
same  class  in  England.  Those  again  who  came  from  abroad 
were  as  yet  clad  in  the  costume  they  had  been  wont  to  wear  in 
the  countries  of  their  adoption,  many  of  them  glittering  in  the 
brilliant  uniform  of  the  Spanish,  Austrian,  or  French  armies, 
for  the  principal  officers  all  took  their  seats  at  the  council-board. 
The  bishops  were  there  in  their  episcopal  garments,  and  the 
mitred  abbots  each  in  the  distinctive  habit  of  his  order.  These, 
with  the  lay-lords,  formed  the  upper  house,  while  the  second 
order  of  the  clergy,  both  secular  and  regular,  sat  with  the  gen- 
tlemen who  were  delegates  from  the  several  towns  and  cities, 
and  with  them  constituted  the  lower  house  answering  to  the 
House  of  Commons.  The  lawyers  again  wore  the  grave  and 
dignified  costume  of  their  office,  so  that  each  of  the  classes 
composing  the  assembly  was  easily  distinguished  from  the 
others,  a id  all  together  conspired  to  form  one  of  the  most  im- 
posing arrays  ever  witness  d on  Irish  ground.  Looking  back 
now  through  the  vista  of  two  hundred  odd  years,  how  the  heart 
swells  with  mingled  pride  and  sorrow  as  we  contemplate  that 
picture : eleven  bishops  and  archbishops,  fourteen  lords,  and 
two  hundred  and  twenty-six  commoners,*  many  of  the  latter 
chiefs  of  high  standing,  all  assembled  in  the  sacred  name  of 
civil  and  religious  freedom,  to  take  the  government  of  the 
country  into  their  own  hands  and  frame  laws  for  the  wants  and 
requirements  of  their  people  in  the  true  spirit  of  paternal  legis- 
lation. Oh!  it  was  a grand,  a glorious  scene,  one  that  Ireland 
may  well  be  proud  of,  for  on  that  day,  at  least,  all  was  peace 
and  harmony,  and  brotherly  love,  all  distinctions  of  race,  all 
hereditary  and  personal  feuds  seemed  buried,  jt  was  fondly 
hoped  for  ever.  Few,  few  such  bright  spots  adorn  our  annals  ! 

A happy  man- was  David  Rothe,  Bishop  of  Ossory,  that  day,f 

* Meehan’s  Cortf.  Kilk. 

t Moore  tells  us  on  the  authority  of  Dr  O’Connor  that  it  was-thi3 
learned  and  most  estimable  prelate  who  first  suggested  the  idea  of  a 
general  Confederacy,  and  also  that  he  gave  up  his  Cathedral  for  the 
first  Session  of  the  Assembly. 


202 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


when,  prior  to  the  opening  of  the  session,  the  Confederates  once 
more  filled  his  Cathedral,  and  he  stood  at  the  high  altar  which 
he  had  recently  erected  and  in  the  sight  of  that  vast  assemblage 
offered  up  the  great  Sacrifice  of  the  New  Law.  And  when  Mass 
was  over,  and  those  present  who  had  not  as  yet  taken  the  oath 
came  forward  to  repeat  the  solemn  words  before  St.  Canice’s 
altar,  how  fervently  did  the  old  bishop  raise  his  hands  and  eyes 
to  heaven  and  invoke  a blessing  on  themselves  and  their  un- 
dertaking. 

Amongst  those  who  there  took  the  oath  of  association  was 
Owen  Roe  O’Neill,  with  the  officers  he  had  brought  from  Spain, 
and  Preston  with  his  Franco-Irish  companions  in  arms.  As 
these  two  distinguished  officers  stood  side  by  side  with  right 
hand  uplifted,  repeating  the  solemn  words,  the  Irish  chief  in  his 
Celtic  garb  and  the  Norman  gentleman  in  his  French  uniform, 
they  were  a fine  picture  to  look  upon,  and  many  hearts  amongst 
.the  highest  and  noblest  and  wisest  there  beat  high  with  hopo  in 
the  accession  of  two  such  leaders.  Could  any  one  present  have 
foreseen  the  petty  jealousy,  the  heart-burnings  and  the  ruinous 
strife  that  grew  up  between  those  two,  he  could  have  wept  tears 
of  blood  for  the  curse  that  was  to  blight  so  fair  a prospect.  But 
no  one  there  happened  to  have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  so  the 
brightness  of  hope  was  unclouded. 

Before  the  last  words  of  Owen  Roe’s  oath  had  died  away  in 
echoes  amongst  the  arches  of  the  roof,  another  of  noble  mien 
and  scarcely  less  martial  bearing  stepped  forth  and  declared 
himself  willing  to  take  the  same  pledge.  It  was  Lord  Castle- 
haven,  and  a murmur  of  applause  and  satisfaction  ran  through 
the.  assembly,  for  that  Earl  was  highly  esteemed  of  all,  and  a 
man  of  undoubted  bravery  ; connected,  moreover,  with  many  of 
the  first  families  of  the  kingdom,  and  hitherto  so  remarkable  for 
his  staunch  adherence  to  the  government  party.  . 

“ I desire  to  take  the  oath,”  said  the  Earl,  and  he  drew  him- 
self up  with  a look  that  seemed  to  say : “ I trust  you  are  all 
sensible  of  the  favor  I confer  on  you  by  joining  your  ranks.” 

“ Bless  you,  my  son,  bless  you,”  said  the  old  bishop  when  the 
Earl  had  taken  the  oath ; “you  have  done  well,  and  I hope  God 
' will  crown  our  joint  efforts  with  success.  General  O’Neill  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  203 

Colonel  Preston,  you  will  rejoice  as  I do  to  see  my  lord  of  Cas- 
tlehaven  by  your  side  at  this  hour — be  ye  henceforth  as  brothers 
working  together  as  one  man  for  the  common  good  !” 

Those  who  looked  at  Nicholas  French  of  Ferns,  or  Malachy 
O’Kelly  of  Tuam,  at  that  moment  might  have  detected  a certain 
quiet  smile  expressive  of  some  doubt  on  the  subject  of  the  union, 
and  down  amongst  the  commoners  certain  significant  looks  were 
exchanged — but  no  one  spoke  with  the  exception  of  Lorcan 
Maguire,  who  said  very  gravely  to  Art  McMahon  near  him  : 

“ I fear,  Art,  the  chain  is  not  made  that  will  bind  the  Tales- 
men and  the  sons  of  the  Gael  together ! — there  are  rivers  of 
blood  between  us,  hard,  hard  to  bridge  across  1” 

“ My  lord  of  Ossory,”  said  the  aged  nobleman,  Mountgarret, 
in  his  place  at  the  chancel  railing,  “ your  words  do  remind  us  of 
a work  that  must  needs  be  done  this  morning  before  other 
duties  are  taken  in  hand : I mean  the  appointment  of  general 
officers  for  the  several  divisions  of  our  army.” 

“It  is  well  thought  of,  my  Lord  Viscount,”  said  the  prelate 
with  a benignant  smile,  “ but  that  you  will  do  in  our  Parliament 
House,  an’  I may  so  call  it — be  it  your  first  act  within  those 
walls.” 

“ I object  to  the  term  parliament  as  applied  to  this  assembly,” 
said  Lord  Castlehaven  quickly  ; “ our  proceedings  must  have  no 
such  character,  unless,  indeed,  you  desire  to  become  what  the 
enemy  would  have  you,  rebels  against  the  king’s  majesty.” 

“ Loyalty  again !”  said  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  to  Miles  O’Reilly 
his  next  neighbor;  “very  loyal  gentlemen  have  away  of  throw- 
ing cold  water  on  everything.  An’  we  wait  till  their  fire  do  ’ 
boil  our  pottage,  we  may  wait  longer  than  will  suit  our 
stomachs.  Rebels,  forsooth ! how  the  word  sticks  in  his  loyal 
throat ! faugh !” — and  honest  Phelim  drew  up  his  large  nose  as 
though'  something  of  an  ill  odor  had  touched  his  olfactory  nerve. 
O’Reilly  laughed  and  shook  his  head  but  made  no  reply.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  day  when  after  burying  Bishop  Beddell 
with  all  the  honors,  he  had  apostrophized  his  memory  as  “ the 
last  of  the  English,”  and  he  said  within  himself : “ they  are  and 
will  be  an  English  colony — churchman  and  soldier,  peer  and 
yeoman,  they  are  all  alike — English  hearts  have  they  and  none 


204 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


othei — natheless,  their  own  interest  may  bind  them  to  us  now. 
An’  it  be  so,  it  is  well.” 

From  St.  Canice’s  the  Confederates  adjourned  to  the  hall  pre- 
pared for  their  deliberations,  where  the  lords  (spiritual  and  tem- 
poral) and  the  commoners  having  taken  their  respective  places 
in  the  upper  and  lower  sections  of  the  hall,  they  proceeded  to 
the  election  of  their  speaker,  and  with  little  opposition,  Master 
Nicholas  Plunket,  a distinguished  lawyer,  a “ grave  and  rever- 
end seignor,”  was  duly  installed  in  that  office,  and  took  posses- 
sion of  the  black  oak  chair  prepared  for  his  speakership  behind 
a table  of  the  same  beautiful  wood.*  Corresponding  to  Mas- 
ter Plunket’s  office  in  the  Lower  House,  although  of  a different 
nature,  was  that  whereto  another  eminent  lawyer,  Patrick 
D’Arcy  by  name,  was  appointed  in  the  Upper  House.  Seated 
on  a high  bench  of  antique  form — historians  will  have  it  “ a 
stool” — this  learned  gentleman  in  wig  and  gown  represented  the 
Lord  Chancellor,  as  it  were  to  decide  on  the  legal  points  mooted 
during  the  session. 

These  preliminaries  settled,  with  Master  Nicholas  Plunket  on 
his  chair  behind  his  high  table,  and  Master  Patrick  D’Arcy  on 
his  “ stool”  of  office,  the  assembly  proceeded  to  business,  and 
first  of  all  to  define  its  exact  nature  and  the  objects  it  had  in 
view.f  Like  all  the  other  acts  of  this  legislative  body,  that  de- 

* The  chair  and  table  used  by  Master  Plunket  during  that  memo- 
rable session  were  to  be  seen  until  a few  years  ago,  when  their  pro- 
prietor, to  avoid  the  trouble  of  showing  them  to  visitors,  had  them 
broken  up  and  burned.  So,  at  least,  says  Mrs.  Hall,  and  I suppose 
we  must  accept  the  statement,  although  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  so 
much  vandalism  is  to  be  found  in  Kilkenny.  Could  not  the  man 
have  sent  such  precious  relics  of  the  past  to  the  Royal  Irish  Acad- 
emy if  he  found  their  ownership  too  great  a burden  1 

•\  The  assembly  had  all  the  appearance  of  a parliament,  although 
the  first  act  of  the  lay- lords,  prelates  and  commons,  was  to  declare 
that  they  did  not  intend  it  as  such,  fearing  to  infringe  on  the  pre- 
rogative of  the  Crown,  to  which  belonged  the  privilege  of  calling, 
proroguing  and  dissolving  the  Senate.  It  was,  however,  a povisional 
government,  “ to  coasult  of  an  order  for  their  own  affairs  till  his 
Majesty’s  wisdom  had  settled  the  present  troubles.”— Meehan's  Con- 
federation, p.  43. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


205 


claration  was  moderate,  calm  and  earnest,  firm  and  dignified 
withal,  and  calculated  to  win  universal  respect. 

The  next  step  was  the  appointment  of  the  generals  for  the 
respective  provinces,  and  when  Lord  Mountgarret  stood  up  for 
that  purpose,  as  President  of  the  Supreme  Council,  a general 
stir  was  visible  amongst  the  members  of  both  houses. 

“ This  question,”  said  the  veteran  peer,  “ hath  already  been 
considered  in  the  Council,  but  we  would  fain  submit  our  choice 
to  the  General  Assembly.  First  of  all  we  have  named  Colonel 
Owen  Mac  Art  O’Neill  general*  of  the  Ulster  forces.  Is  it  your 
will  that  he  be  so  appointed  V' 

An  affirmative  response  came  from  all  parts  of  the  hall,  in 
fact  from  every  member  of  both  houses,  save  only  Sir  Plielim 
O’Neill,  who  bit  his  lip  and  remained  silent,  to  the  great  satisfac- 
tion of  the  chiefs  near  him,  who  had  feared  an  explosion  that 
■would  startle  the  house. 

“For  Leinster,”  resumed  Mountgarret,  “ we  have  thought  of 
another  officer  of  rank,  and,  like  General  O’Neill,  of  high  repute 
abroad.  You  all,  doubtless,  know  who  I mean.” 

“ My  Lord  President,”  said  Sir  James  Dillon,  from  his  place 
in  the  Lower  House,  rising  and  bowing  to  the  chair,  “ as  this  is 
a matter  foreign  to  our  legislative  functions,  I conceive  myself 
at  liberty  to  address  you  directly.  I object  to  that  appointment 
before  the  name  be  publicly  mentioned — there  be  one  here 
present  who  hath,  I conceive,  a prior  claim  to  the  command  of 
that  army.” 

Hearing  this,  a murmur  of  surprise  ran  through  the  assembly, 
and  each  looked  inquiringly  at  his  neighbor,  then  every  eye  was 
turned  on  Preston,  who  sat  motionless  in  his  seat  with  a counte- 
nance  of  assumed  composure,  while  his  rapidly  changing  color 
and  the  angry  frown  on  "his  broad  brow  showed  him  ill  at  ease 
and  much  disturbed  in  mind. 

“ You  surprise  me,  Sir  James  Dillon,”  said  the  President, 
“ and  I needs  must  say  that  I regret  to  hear  what  I have  heard 
from  you.  Union  is,  of  all  things,  the  most  important  to  us,  and 
I had  hoped  that  these  appointments  would  have  been  made 
without  one  dissentient  voice.  Do  you  still  persist  in  your  design 
of  proposing  another  general  for  Leinster  I” 


206 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I do,  my  lord,  and  I think  the  majority  of  the  assembly  will 
approve  of  the  nomination  I am  about  to  make.” 

“ In  God’s  name  let  us  have  it,  then,”  said  the  old  lord  with 
the  slightest  possible  show  of  displeasure ; “ who  would  you 
have  to  command  the  army  of  Leinster  V' 

“ He  is  here,  my  lord ! to  speak  for  himself,”  and  turning 
he  bowed  to  a cavalier  in  a costume  half-Spanish,  half-Irish, 
who  had  been  sitting  for  some  time  near  him  partially  concealed 
by  the  tall  form  of  Owen  O’Neill.  In  the  general  bustle  attend- 
ing on  the  opening  of  the  assembly  this  personage  passed 
unnoticed,  but  when  he  rose  and  stepped  to  the  front  and  bowed 
around  with  a smiling  countenance  as  to  a gathering  of  old 
familiar  friends,  a cry  of  joyful  recognition  arose  from  lords  and 
commons : 

“ It  is  Roger  O’Moore !*  exclaimed  the  Norman  knights;  “it 
is  Rory  O’More,”  echoed  the  Celtic  chiefs,  and  all  seemed  alike 
rejoiced  to  see  the  accomplished  chieftain  of  Leix  onco  more  in 
their  midst. 

“ Why,  then,  a hundred  thousand  welcomes,  Rory !”  cried  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill,  as  he  crossed  the  hall  to  have  a shake  hands  ; 
“ where  have  you  hid  yourself  since ” 

“ Since  Kilrush,”  said  O’Moore  in  an  under  tone,  as  he  warmly 
shook  the  proffered  hand,  at  the  same  time  making  a sign  for 
the  impulsive  northman  to  resume  his  seat.  “ This  is  no  place 
or  time  for  explanations  !” 

Meanwhile  a conference  was  going  on  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
hall  between  Lords  Mountgarret,  Muskerry,  Castlehaven,  and 
one  or  two  of  the  bishops.  A difference  of  opinion  seemed  to 
prevail  amongst  them,  judging  by  their  jestures  and  the  earnest 
manner  in  which  they  spoke.  Lord  Gormanstown,  from  his  near 
relationship  to  Preston,  thought  it  indecorous  to  give  an  opinion, 
but,  while  he  affected  to  converse  on  some  other  subject  with 
Lord  Fingal,  who  sat  next  him,  there  was  a restless,  anxious 
look  on  his  face,  and  he  glanced  furtively  from  time  to  time  at 
the  group  of  peers  before-mentioned. 

O'Moore  and  his  friends  manifested  no  such  anxiety ; they 
were  evidently  confident  of  success. 

At  length  the  other  peers  took  their  seats  again,  and  Lord 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


207 


Mountgarret  addressed  the  assembly  with  the  air  of  a man  who 
had  an  unpleasant  task  before  him. 

“ No  one  here,”  said  he,  “ doth  entertain  a higher  opinion  of 
Mr.  O’Moore  than  I do  myself — as  a man,  a gentleman,  a Chris- 
tian, and  a patriot,  we  are  all  prepared  to  admit  his  rare  merit — 
but,  lords  and  gentlemen,  what  experience  hath  he  had  of  mili- 
tary affairs  ? — war  is  a trade  which,  like  all  others,  must  needs 
.be  duly  learned  ; ay  ! and  well-practised  to  give  promise  of  suc- 
cess. What  apprenticeship  hath  our  honored  friend  made  to 
that  trade  to  entitle  him  to  set  up  in  business  ? And,  bethink 
you,  it  is  the  business  of  the  whole  nation?” 

“ But  this  have  I to  say,  my  Lord  Mountgarret,”  said  O’Moore 
with  that  lordly  air  which  he  well  knew  how  to  assume,  “ to 
tv  it,  that  your  lordship’s  memory  must  needs  be  somewhat  short- 
ened of  late,  else  would  you  remember  that  the  whole  of  this 
business,  now  so  flourishing,  was  first  started  by  me.  Surely 
the  man  that  set  the  wheel  a-moving  has  the  best  right  to  keep 
it  in  motion,  and,  moreover,  though  I say  it  myself,  the  people 
are  all  well  affected  towards  me,  and  will  follow  my  stand- 
ard sooner  than  that  of  a stranger — craving  Colonel  Preston’s 
pardon !” 

Lord  Mountgarret  shook  his  head.  “ 1 am  myselt  somewhat 
of  a soldier,”  said  he,  “ as  you  all  know,  and,  with  the  best  in- 
tentions, I confess  I have  found  myself  often  at  fault  for  want 
of  skill  in  strategy.  I know  full  well,  Mr.  O’Moore,  what  we  all 
owre  to  your  untiring  zeal  and  patriotism — I know,  too — we  all 
know  that  you  might  raise  an  army  in  less  time  than  any  one 
here  present,  but,  being  raised,  what  would  you  do  with  it  V ’ 

“What  other  men  do — I promise  no  more,”  said  O’Moore 
carelessly. 

“ What  Mountgarret  did  at  Kilrush  and  Barry  at  Liscarroll,” 
said  Castlehaven  with  a malicious  smile  to  Lord  Dunboyne  near 
him  ; “ methinks  we  have  had  enough  of  such  generalship.” 

Mountgarret  heard  not  the  words,  but  the  same  thought  was 
his  own. 

“ My  lords  and  gentlemen,”  said  he  addressing  the  assembly, 
“ I will  refer  this  matter  to  your  decision,  reminding  you  only 
that  much  time  hath  already  been  spent  without  any  profit 


208 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


worth  speaking  of.  Castles  and  towns  have  been  taken  and  re- 
taken, skirmishes  beyond  number  have  been  fought  with  various 
success,  and,  I grieve  to  say  it,  the  more  important  actions  have 
all  gone  against  us,  to  the  great  discouragement  of  our  follow- 
ers, and  the  great  waste  of  our  supplies,  begged  all  over  Europe 
— why  is  this,  brethren  of  the  Confederation  1 — I hardly  know 
myself,  you  may  not  choose  to  answer  in  such  wise  as  your 
judgment  would  suggest,  but  this  we  must  all  acknowledge,  that 
it  behoveth  us  to  seize  the  greater  and  more  certain  advantage 
offered  us  for  the  furtherance  of  our  cause.  For  the  command 
of  the  Leinster  army  you  have  now  to  choose  between  Colonel 
Thomas  Preston,  a gentleman  of  tried  valor,  and  of  long  and 
honorable  experience  in  the  art  of  war,  and  our  much  esteemed 
friend,  Master  Roger  O’Moore,  who,  with  high  blood  in  his  veins 
and  all  manner  of  accomplishments,  not  to  speak  of  the  part  he 
took  in  setting  this  work  a-going,  is  yet  wanting,  as  all  must 
know,  in  that  experience  which  is  the  first  thing  to  be  looked 
for  in  a general ” 

From  a half-open  door,  behind  Master  D’Arcy’s  elevated  seat, 
came  the  voice  of  one  singing,  loud,  clear  and  bold  : 

“ The  taunt  and  the  sneer  let  the  coward  endure, 

Our  trust  is  in  God  and  in  Rory  O’Moore.” 

“ Close  that  door  !”  cried  the  President  angrily,  as  he  marked 
the  smile  on  the  faces  of  the  Irish  chieftains.  “ It  is  for  you 
now  to  decide,  my  lords  and  noble  gentlemen,  who  shall  be  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  Leinster  forces.'” 

“ There  be  out-door  machinery  at  work,  I perceive,”  observed 
Preston  in  a tone  of  affected  indifference  ; “ Master  Rory  O’Moore 
must  needs  have  his  heart  set  on  the  office  when  he  employs 
the  ballad-mongers  of  the  city  to  sing  him  into  it.  Truly  he 
may  have  it,  for  all  I !” 

“ Have  a care  what  you  say,  Colonel  Preston,”  said  Sir  John 
Netterville  who  sat  next  him ; “ we  may  deem  it  inexpedient  to 
place  O’ Moore  at  the  head  of  an  army,  but,  natheless,  the 
man  steps  not  in  shoe  leather  who  may  speak  lightly  of  him  in 
this  company.  His  day  will  come,  for  nought  is  wanting  to  him 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


209 


but  military  service — he  hath  a good  head  and  a strong  arm  and 
courage  to  dare  all  things ” 

“ I thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,  Sir  John,”  said  O’Moore 
who  had  overheard  what  passed  between  them ; “ but  my 
day,  as  you  call  it,  will  never  come,  an’  it  come  not  now  !” 

Much  talking  and  debating  followed,  most  of  the  old  Irish 
present  being  inclined  to  appoint  0 Moore,  but  even  they  were, 
after  some  consultation,  convinced  that  the  step  would  be  un- 
wise, not  only  on  account  of  the  inexperience  of  that  chieftain 
as  a military  leader,  but  also  because  of  the  offence  it  would 
give  to  Preston,  after  the  unanimous  appointment  of  Owen 
O'Neill.  O’Moore,  it  was  thought,  could  and  would  waive  his 
claim  in  view  of  the  common  good.  Dillon,  Netterville  and  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill,  all  stood  up  to  protest  against  the  appointment 
of  any  other  than  O’Moore,  but  with  a majestic  wave  of  his  hand 
Mountgarret  silenced  them  all,  and  then  proceeded  to  declare 
Colonel  Thonm  Preston  duly  commissioned  to  the  supreme 
command  of  the  army  of  Leinster. 

“ It  is  well,”  said  O’Moore,  standing  up  once  more  with  that 
graceful  self-possession  which  he  never  lost,  “it  is  well,  and  the 
assembly  hath  doubtless  shown  its  wisdom  in  its  choice.  It 
was  the  dream  of  many  a weary  month  to  me  that  I should  have 
the  command  of  the  army  to  be  raised  in  that  province — where 
of  old  the  O’Moores  fought  much  and  well — with  that  expecta- 
tion I did  apply  myself  to  study  the  art  of  war  hoping  that  the 
time  for  action  was  not  far  distant.  The  dream  was  presump- 
tuous, it  may  be,  and  I am  free  to  admit  that  you  have  done  well 
in  securing  the  military  talents  of  Colonel  Preston.  With  such 
a commander  all  must  needs  go  well,  and  I need  not  say  that  no 
heart  will  rejoice  more  in  his  success  than  he  who  now  addresses 
you — for  the  last  time.” 

“ For  the  last  time,  Rory ! say  not  so,  I beseech  you !”  said 
Owen  Roe  advancing  towards  him  with  more  emotion  than  he 
usually  manifested,  while  many  others  followed  his  example,  all 
eager  to  testify  their  respect  and  esteem.  “ What  were  the  Con- 
federation without  Rory  O’Moore  V’ 

“ What  it  hath  been  for  months  past,  when  my  name  was  un- 
named and  my  absence  unnoticed  by  any.  For  your  sake,  Owen. 


210 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


I am  sorry,  for  it  was  my  hope,  I may  confess  it,  that  as 
brothers-in-arms  we  should  uphold  together  the  glorious  banner 
which  Sir  Phelim  here  and  O’Reilly  and  McMahon  uplifted  on 
your  Ulster  hills  just  one  twelvemonth  since.”  And  in  turn  he 
grasped  the  hand  of  each  chieftain  as  he  named  his  name. 
Owen’s  hand  he  held  the  longest  and  looked  into  his  eyes  with 
the  fond  affection  of  a brother.  “ Fare  you  well,  friend  of  my 
heart,”  he  said  with  a fervent  pressure  of  his  hand  which  O’Neill 
returned  with  deep  emotion ; “ neither  of  us  foresaw  this  hour 
when  by  the  Manzanares’  banks  in  sunny  Spain  we  talked  of  home 
and  freedom,  and  what  things  we  must  needs  accomplish  for 
the  oppressed  children  of  the  Gael.  Your  aid  is  gladly  accepted, 
Owen,  but  mine  hath  been  rejected — they  have  cast  me  out,  and 
i go  forth  to  seek  a new  sphere  of  action  !” 

“ Mr.  O’Moore,”  said  Lord  Mountgarret,  “ I grieve  that  you 
should  deem  us  so  ungrateful.  There  will  be  many  offices  of 
high  trust  in  our  gift,  the  which  you  can  fill  with  profit  to  the 
nation.” 

“ I thank  your  lordship,”  said  the  chieftain  coldly ; “ you  had  ' 
but  one  office  which  I desired  to  have,  and  that  you  have  given 
to  another.” 

“ But  surely,”  said  Archbishop  O’Kelly  from  his  place  in  the 
upper  hall,  “ surely  you  will  not  abandon  the  cause  for  that 
you  cannot  have  things  your  own  way.  Nay,  you  will  not,  dare 
not  1” 

“ God  forbid  that  I should  do  as  your  grace  saith,”  returned 
O’Moore  with  a reverential  salutation  ; “ I can  serve  you  abroad  if 
not  at  home,  and  so,  with  the  divine  blessing,  I mean  to  do. 
For  myself,  you  shall  see  me  no  more,  but  my  heart  shall  ever 
be  with  you,  and  what  I can  do  to  raise  subsidies  abroad  shall  be 
be  freely  done.  It  hath  been  said  that  I am  more  of  a diploma- 
tist than  a soldier,  and  it  may  be  true.  Since  you  will  not  have 
my  service  in  one  capacity,  I must  e’en  render  it  in  the  other. 

I humbly  salute  your  grace  and  all  this  illustrious  assembly — 
may  heaven  direct  your  councils  to  a good  end !” 

“ Will  you  not  shake  hands  with  me,  Master  O’Moore  1”  said  a 
strong,  sonorous  voice  near  him,  and  Preston  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  of  chiefs. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


211 


u With  all  my  heart,  general!  and  may  success  attend  you!” 
“Hear  you  that  said  Sir  James  Dillon  to  those  around 
him  ; “poor  Roger  is  the  first  to  give  him  that  title.” 

“ Could  we  not  prevail  upon  you  to  remain  with'us  ?’  said  the 
new  general. 

“ It  cannot  be,  Master  Preston ! my  path  of  duty  began  be- 
yond seas,  and  there  I see  it  is  to  end.  It  matters  not,  good 
friends !” — and  he  turned  to  each  with  a moistened  eye  and  a 
flushed  cheek — “ we  shall  all  work  to  the  same  end,  and  if  we 
meet  no  more  on  earth  we  shall  meet,  I trust,  where  our  reward 
awaits  us.  Friends  ! l^ffid  friends — true  friends — remember  me 
as  I shall  ever  remember  you  !” 

And-  grasping  again  each  offered  hand,  he  cast  a parting 
glance  around  the  room,  bowed  with  all  his  wonted  grace  to  the 
lords  and.  prelates,  many  of  whom  stood  up  to  receive  his  fare- 
well, and  then  walked  with  a princely  mien  to  the  door,  where, 
turning,  he  bowed  to  the  entire  assembly,  and  withdrew  in 
silence. 

Although  many  an  eye  was  wet  amongst  the  Irish  chiefs,  and 
even  amongst  the  Norman  Palesmen,  few  ventured  to  give  ex- 
pression to  their  thoughts,  whatever  they  might  be.  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill,  indeed,  was  almost  the  only  one. 

“Well!  I thought  Rory  would  have  overlooked  it,”  said  be, 
as  though  speaking  to  himself;  “ an’  it  had  been  me,  now,  no 
one  would  have  wondered,  but  Rory  O’Moore  to  leave  us  in 
anger  that  way — I wouldn’t  have  wished  it  for  half  of  Tyr- 
Owen,  even  on  his  own  account !” 


212 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

“ And  though  he  posted  e’er  so  fast, 

His  fear  was  greater  than  his  haste  ; 

For  fear,  though  fleeter  than  Ae  wind, 

Believes  ’ tis  always  left  behind1 ” 

Butler’s  Hudibras. 

“ I will  believe 

Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know  ; 

And  so  far  will  I trust  thee.” 

Shakespeare. 

The  Leinster  affair  once  settled,  the  other  appointments  oc- 
cupied hut  little  time.  Barry,  as  might  be  expected,  was  unan- 
imously chosen  to  command  the  army  of  Munster,  or  rather 
continued  in  that  office.  As  for  Connaught,  the  name  was  no 
sooner  mentioned  than  Lord  Castleliaven  and  Bishop  McMahon 
and  half  a dozen  others  were  on  their  feet  in  an  instant  to  name 
the  Earl  of  Clanrickarde. 

“ I object  to  that  appointment,”  said  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam. 

“ On  what  grounds,  my  lord  1”  inquired  Castlehaven. 

“ On  the  grounds  that  that  lord  is  not  only  no  friend  of  our 
cause  but  a bitter  and  determined  enemy.” 

“ But  suppose  he  should  one  day  see  through  his  error,  and 
take  his  place  amongst  us  T’ 

“ It  will  be  time  enough,  then,  to  nominate  him  for  any  office.” 

“ But  could  we  not  name  him  now  as  commander-in-chief'?” 
persisted  the  Earl ; “ he  may  decline,  and  probably  will,  but, 
natheless,  the  compliment  might  please  him.” 

“ I tell  you  no !”  repeated  the  prelate  sternly  ; “ he  would  not 
thank  us  for  the  compliment,  and,  moreover,  the  man  deserveth 
.no  respect  at  our  hands.  I will  never  consent  to  send  our  offices 
of  trust  and  honor  a-begging  after  renegades — pass  him  over,  I 
say ! — we  will  none  of  him !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


213 


“But,  I pray  your  grace  to  consider — ” chimed  in  Lord 
Howth,  who  seldom  volunteered  an  opinion. 

“ I have  considered — we  have,  or  ought  to  have — all  considered 
that  we  might  as  well  appoint  Lord  Ormond  as  Lord  Clanrickarde  ! 
It  were  the  act  of  fools,  and  I say  again  I will  have  no  more  of 
it.  My  Lord  Mountgarret,  I pray  you  close  this  matter!  Sir 
John  Burke  hath  been  spoken  of  for  this  command,  an’  I mis- 
take not !” 

“ Ay,  hath  he,”  said  the  Bishop  of  Clonfert,  himself  one  of  the 
De  Burgos,  “ a Burke  worth  a dozen  of  Ulick,  at  least  for  us, 
and  a chief  man  in  that  province,  too ; one,  moreover,  who  hath 
seen  good  service  and  stands  well  approved !” 

“ So  let  it  be,  then,”  said  Lord  Mountgarret,  and  immediately 
he  declared  Sir  John  Burke  general  of  the  Connaught  army,  no 
dissentient  voice  being  raised  against  him.  These  four  generals, 
then,  duly  appointed,  were  empowered  to  levy  forces  at  need  in 
their  respective  provinces,  and  otherwise  to  take  such  measures 
as  might  be  found  expedient  for  the  interests  of  the  service. 
Lord  Casllehaven,  having  so  lately  joined  the  Confederates,  re- 
ceived no  special  appointment,  but  agreed,  nevertheless,  to  serve 
in  any  of  the  provinces  in  a sort  of  general  way,  as  he  tells  us 
in  his  Memoirs. 

That  done,  Mr.  Patrick  D’Arcy  arose  and  begged  to  remind 
the  Supreme  Council  and  the  honorable  Assembly  of  a cert  ain  mat- 
ter of  much  legal  importance.  All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  on 
the  grave  lawyer,  who,  after  sundry  “ ahems,”  of  a professional 
nature,  went  on : 

“ The  Council  will,  I presume,  find  it  necessary  to  issue  writs 
and  documents  of  divers  kinds  from  time  to  time  1” 

“ Assuredly,  Master  D’Arcy,”  said  Lord  Mountgarret ; “ that  is 
understood.” 

“ And  you  will  seal  them,  doubtless  I” 

“ Of  a surety,  Master  D’Arcy!  Wherefore  not  I” 

“ I said  not  against  it,  my  lord,  but  would  simply  ask  where  is 
your  seal  of  office  V* 

“ 1 protest  I never  thought  of  that,”  said  the  aged  nobleman 
looking  around,  while  a glow  of  pleasure  suffused  every  face  at 
the  thought  of  having  a “ great  seal,”  for  their  Supreme  Council. 


214 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ What  say  ye,  lords  and  gentlemen,  who  will  furnish  a device 
for  our  sign  manual  1” 

Many  devices  were  furnished  and  many  opinions  offered  on 
the  subject.  Some  were  for  having  the  Celtic  and  the  Norman 
emblems  associated,  others  for  only  one  national  device,  and 
others  again  for  a union  of  religious  and  national  emblems.  The 
latter  thought,  which  was  that  of  the  bishops,  prevailed,  and  a 
beautiful  design  was  speedily  adopted:  “In  the  centre  was  a 
large  cross,  the  base  of  which  rested  on  a flaming  heart,  while 
its  apex  was  overlapped  by  the  wings  of' a dove,  on  the  left  of 
the  cross  was  the  harp,  and  on  the  right  the  crown.*'* 

A goodly  device  it  was,  and  the  motto  was  no  less  happily 
conceived  : Pro  Deo,  Rege,  et  Patria,  IIiberni  Unanimes. 
Thus  the  legend  ran,  and  coupled  with  so  fair  a device,  it  hap- 
pily expressed  the  objects  which  the  united  Catholics  of  Ireland 
had  in  view.  Their  hopes,  their  plans,  their  aspirations,  were  all 
condensed  into  that  one  admirable  sentence,  and  when  the  seal 
was  struck  and  first  presented  to  the  assembly  it  gave  satisfac- 
tion to  all.  When  first  used  in  the  name  of  the  Confederation  on 
an  order  to  raise  men  and  money  in  the  wealthy  province  of 
Leinster,  the  document  was  handed  round  for  inspection,  and  we 
may  imagine  the  feelings  of  Owen  Roe,  and  many  others  scarcely 
less  devoted  to  the  national  cause,  as  they  gazed  on  the  precious 
memento. 

“ The  great  seal  of  Ireland,”  murmured  Owen  partly  to  him- 
self, partly  to  O’Reilly  of  Breffny,  at  his  side  ; “now  that 
sight  was  worth  living  for.  Pro  Deo , Rege , et  Patria , — for  God, 
our  king,  and  our  country  — surely  yes — Hiberni  Unanimes. 
Heaven  grant,  friend  Philip,  we  be  always  Unanimes — on  that 
point  doth  our  success  turn.” 

“ Come,  come,  general ! no  doubts,  no  fears  with  that  seal  be- 
fore us,  the  grand  assembly  sitting  in  council,  our  colors  flying 
over  tower  and  town,  and  our  vessels  scouring  the  seas.”f 

* Meehan,  quoting  Harold’s  Life  of  Wadding. 

t Independent  of  the  ships  sent  from  the  Continent,  letters  of 
marque  were  given  to  many  others  by  the  Supreme  Council  to  serve 
a«  privateers.  These  were,  even  at  the  time  we  write  of,  numerous 
on  all  the  coasts. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


215 


“ Ay,  marry,  and  Father  Luke  Wadding  scouring  the  lands,” 
put  in  Sir  Phelim  whose  bulky  form  just  then  intercepted  the 
light  from  a window  behind  Owen.  “ That  man  is  worth  a dozen 
privateers — no  disrespect  to  them,  either.” 

“ Poor  Rory  !”  sighed  Owen  still  following  the  train  of  his  own 
thoughts,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  seal,  “ you  were  the  first  to 
set  this  union  on  foot,  and  now  when  it  waxeth  strong  and  taketh 
shape  and  form  you  have  cast  it  from  you  as  a worthless  thing. 
Oh,  Rory  ! friend  and  faithful  councillor ! is  this  your  example 
for  our  Hiberni  Unanimes  ? Shall  we  see  you  no  more,  oh  ! 
gifted  son  of  the  ancient  race  ? Excuse  me,  friends ! but  my 
heart  is  heavy  when  I think  of  Rory  O’ Moore,  going  forth  as  he 
does,  with  the  barb  of  ingratitude  rankling  in  his  heart!” 

“ Pooh!  pooh ! man,”  said  Sir  Phelim  carelessly  ; “ an’  he  be 
so  easily  separated  from  us  he  is  scarce  worth  the  having. 
Others  have  lost  what  they  had  as  good  a right  to  as  Rory  had 
to  the  Leinster  army.  But  who  cares  for  a home-spun  native 
like  Philip  O’Reilly  or  Phelim  O’Neill — what  say  you,  Philip  V* 
and  he  slapped  O’Reilly  lustily  on  the  shoulder. 

“I  cry  you  mercy,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  the  BrefFny  chief  some- 
what chafed  ; “ I would  rather  have  your  word  than  your  blow 
any  time.  Of  your  affairs  or  mine  there  is  no  question  now,  but 
as  for  O’Moore,  I cannot  think,  general” — addressing  Owen  Roe — 
“ that  he  means  what  he  says : he  will  not  leave  us  at  such  a 
juncture !” 

“ I fear  he  has  left,  and  for  ever,”  said  Owen  sadly. ; “ I have 
sought  him  in  vain  since  his  appearance  before  the  assembly, 
and  lam  told  he  hath  actually  sailed  for  Spain.”  And  so  he  had, 

“ And  the  land  of  his  heart’s  hope  he  saw  never  more.” 

A great  stir  was  made  at  first  about  his  disappearance,  and 
little  else  was  talked  of  for  many  days,  but  the  surmises  and 
conjectures,  the  regrets  and  complaints  all  came  at  last  to  an  end, 
and  were  swallowed  up  in  the  whirl  of  passing  events,  and  the 
name  of  Rory  O’Moore  gradually  died  away  on  both  sides  the 
Bregah,  and  was  forgotten,  save  by  Owen  O’Neill,  and  Dillon,  and 
Netterville,  and  a few  others  who  had  been  his  early  associates 
in  the  great  work. 


218 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Whilst  all  Kilkenny  was  ringing  with  the  unaccountable  re- 
tirement of  O’Moore  from  the  Confederation,  the  young  Tanist 
of  Fermanagh  and  the  friends  of  his  family  were  thrown  into 
strange  confusion  by  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  Lorcan. 
The  old  man  had  bade  his  nephew  good  night  with  unusual  emo- 
tion one  evening  late,  after  the  breaking  up  of  the  assembly,  and 
Roderick  laughed  as  he  shook  his  hand,  saying  : “ Uncle,  what 
is  amiss  with  you  1 One  would  think  you  were  going  a long 
journey !” 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  “ The  doom  of  our 
race  is  dark  and  heavy,  Roderick,  my  son,  and  it  weighs  down 
the  head  of  age  at  times.” 

“Ha!  ha!  the  spirits  are  at  work  again,  I see.  Have  they 
followed  us  all  the  way  to  Kilkenny 

“ Nay,  Roderick,  scoff  not  at  'the  things  which  thou  knowest 
not,”  said  the  old  man  solemnly ; “ afll  places  are  alike  to  tho 
creatures  of  air.  They  have  been  with  me,  son  of  my  brother, 
since  I came  to  this  city  of  memories,  and  they  have  told  me 
things  which  my  lips  may  not  utter  or  your  ears  hear.” 

“ Said  they  aught  of  Connor?  ’ inquired  Roderick  with  more 
earnestness  than  he  was  aware  of. 

“ Even  that  I may  not  answer,  nephew  ! Their  words  are  not 
to  he  repeated  unto  mortal  ear.  This  only  will  I tell  you : the 
oak  of  Fermanagh  shivers  in  the  blast — the  storm  is  in  its 
branches — the  voice  of  the  winds  is  loud,  and  wild,  it  may  be 
mournful — the  hour  of  fate  draws  nigh — how  it  will  pass — how 
the  storm  will  end — what  the  wind-spirit  discourseth  unto  us,  is 
hidden  from  me,  as  yet.  Farewell,  son  of  Maguire ! farewell, 
Roderick  of  the  spears ! pleasant  dreams  be  yours  this  night, 
pleasanter  than  those  of  your  old  uncle !” 

Ho  as  he  would,  all  that  night  bold  Roderick  could  not  get 
rid  of  the  strange  impression  left  by  his  uncle’s  words  and  man- 
ner. Accustomed  as  he  was  to  his  eccentric  ways,  he  could  not 
but  feel  that  there  was  something  more  than  usual  in  his 
thoughts,  and  in  vain,  and,  indeed,  involuntary  speculation  on 
what  it  might  be,  the  Tanist  spent  his  night.  Next  morning 
brought  the  astounding  news  that  Lorcan  was  not  to  be  found— 
he  had  been  seen  at  early  dawn  passing  out  through  one  of  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


217 


gates  in  company  with  a young  Franciscan  friar.  The  sentry  at 
the  gate  who  chanced  to  be  acquainted  with  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  old  northern  warrior,  gave  a ludicrous  account 
of  the  singular  figure  he  made  in  a surcoat,  hose  and  jack- 
boots, with  a small  steel  morion  on  his  head,  and  the  long  grey 
locks,  the  growth  of  seventy  summers,  which  had  streamed  on 
the  breeze  in  Milesian  glory,  all  carefully  shorn  away.  It  was 
a picture  to  excite  the  risible  faculties  of  those  who  knew  the 
old  man,  and  at  first  his  nephew  did  laugh  heartily,  sup- 
posing some  strange  conceit,  some  passing  whim,  had  in- 
duced Lorcan  to  don  that  garb,  so  odious  in  his  eyes,  and  that 
evening,  or,  at  farthest,  the  ensuing  day  would  bring  him  back 
to  his  anxious  friends.  But  when  evening  came,  and  morning 
came,  and  the  next  day  passed  away  without  any  tidings  of 
him,  then  Roderick  began  to  couple  his  disappearance  with  his 
mysterious  inuendos  of  the  previous  night,  and  something  smote 
him  with  a sad  presentiment  of  evil.  Who  could  the  friar  be 
who  held  secret  communings  with  the  simple  old  man,  and  final- 
ly carried  him  off  on  some  errand  known  only  to  themselves, 
for  that  Lorcan’s  disappearance  v*ras  owing  to  this  stranger’s  in- 
fluence Roderick  was  quick  enough  to  perceive. 

“ What  the  mischief,”  cried  Hugh  Byrne  when  his  friend  un- 
bosomed himself  of  his  fears  and  misgivings ; “ could  it  be  the 
same  friar  at  whose  beck  Lorcan  quitted  me  so  hastily  some 
days  since  at  the  bishop’s  1” 

“ How  is  that,  Hugh  1 — I heard  not  of  it — I pray  you  tell  me 
how  it  was !” 

O’Byrne  then  related  the  incident  which,  of  course,  went  to 
confirm  Maguire’s  suspicions.  That  the  friar  was  somewhat 
other  than  he  seemed  there  was  every  reason  to  suppose,  but 
as  no  clue  was  left  to  trace  the  mystery,  Roderick  was  forced 
to  leave  the  matter  as  it  was,  hoping  that  time  would  ere  long 
throw  light  upon  it. 

On  the  night  following  Lorcan’s  disappearance,  there  stood  by 
the  old  market-cross  of  Kilkenny  two  men  arrayed  in  the  Celtic 
garb  as  usually  worn  by  the  clansmen,  with  coarse  woollen  scarfs 
of  variegated  colors  wrapped  in  many  folds  around  their  chest 
and  shoulders  instead  of  the  short  cloak  or  cape  worn  by  the 
20 


218 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


chiefs  over  the  tight-fitting  jacket.  One  of  these  was  tall,  and 
lank,  and  slightly  bent  forward,  while  the  other  was  short  and 
thick,  and  well  planted  on  his  limbs.  They  were  talking  in  the 
native  language  concerning  what  they  had  seen  since  they  came 
to  Kilkenny,  and  as  the  hour  was  late  and  the  streets  well  nigh 
deserted,  they  conversed  in  a louder  tone  than  they  would  other- 
wise have  used  in  such  a place.  Moreover,  they  were  neither  of 
them  accustomed  to  the  restraints  of  city  life,  for  their  days  had 
all  past  amid  the  woods  and  in  the  fields  under  the  free  canopy 
of  heaven  far  away  in  “the  north  countrie.”  So  they  chat- 
ted away  on  that  night  in  the  market-place  of  Kilkenny  as  fear- 
lessly and  freely  as  though  they  stood  on  their  native  heath 
within  Ulladh’s  borders. 

It  was  no  other  than  Malachy  McMahon  and  Shamus  Beg 
O’ Hagan  who  had  chosen  so  drear  an  hour  and  so  strange  a 
place  for  their  confabulation.  It  appeared  from  what  they  had 
been  saying  that  Malachy  was  in  attendance  on  Bishop  Heber 
who  had  come  forth  by  appointment  in  that  silent  hour  to  meet 
Father  Peter  Walsh,  with  whom  he  was  then  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation  under  the  deep  arch  of  a building  some  way  up  the 
street. 

“ He  told  me,”  said  Malachy,  “ to  walk  up  and  down  the  street 
till  he’d  be  ready  to  come.  Between  you  and  me,  Sbamus  * I 
don’t  think  much  of  that  same  friar  he  has  taken  up  with  since 
we  came  here.  God  forgive  me  for  passing  an  opinion  on  one  of 
his  cloth,  but  to  tell  you  God’s  truth,  Shamus  dear,  there’s  some- 
thing in  that  man’s  eyes,  and  in  the  sound  of  his  voice  that 
makes  me  that  I can’t  warm  to  him.  But  that’s  neither  here 
nor  there — they  say  he’s  a very  pious  man  and  a great  scholar 
all  out — at  least  the  bishop  says  so,  and  what  would  bring  him 
here  now  if  he  wasn’t  the  right  stamp.” 

“ What  sort  of  a stamp,  do  you  think,  was  that  other  friar 
that  kidnapped  poor  old  Lorcan  Maguire — Shamus  asked 
this  in  a tone  half  serious,  half  jocular — “there’s  one  thing  I can 
say  myself  about  him  and  that  is  that  he  has  the  fairest  and  the 
comeliest  face  I ever  saw  under  a hood.  I’m  thinking  there 
must  have  been  some  eyes  red,  ay,  and  hearts  sore  the  day  he 
was  ordained.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


219 


“ Do  you  tell  me  so,  Shamus,”  replied  Malachy  drawing 
nearer  and  speaking  in  a more  confidential  tone ; “ I never  got  a 
sight  of  him  myself,  but  as  sure  as  I’m  here  it  came  into  my 
head  that  it  might  he  ne’er  a monk  at  all  but  just  a spirit  or 
something  that  way  that  inveigled  the  old  man  away  on  account 
of  the  dealings  he  had  with  things  of  the  kind  all  his  life.  Eh, 
Shamus  1 Lord  save  us,  did  you  hear  anything  V ’ 

“ Why  no,  then,  did  you  V ’ 

“ Well  upon  my  veracity  I did,  Shamus ! if  I didn’t  hear  like 
somebody  laughing  I’ll  never  trust  my  ears  again.” 

“ Nonsense,  Malachy,  you’re  ever  and  always  imagining 
things,”  said  Shamus  slapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  “ and  even 
if  somebody  did  laugh,  wThat  of  itl  I’m  sure  there’s  plenty  of 
people  hereabouts  not  in  bed  yet  these  stirring  times.” 

“ True,  true,  Shamus ! — God  bless  you,  but  it’s  you  has  the 
brave  heart — it  was  God  sent  you  across  me  the  night,  sure 
enough.  How  did  you  happen  out  at  all  I” 

“ Oh ! I was  just  taking  a bit  of  a walk  with  some  boys  from 
our  own  place,”  said  Shamus  evasively,  “ and  as  we  turned  a 
corner  over  there  beyond,  I caught  sight  of  you  walking  up  and 
down  like  a sentry,  so  I knew  you’d  be  all  the  better  pleased  to 
have  company  whatever  you  were  about,  and  I just  let  the 
others  walk  on  till  I’d  come  and  see  what  you  were  at.” 

“ It  was  God  sent  you,”  said  Malachy  with  simple  earnestness, 
“ for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I was  beginning  to  feel  mighty  queer 
— there’s  a ghostly  look  about  the  old  buildings  round  here  that 
I don’t  like  at  all,  at  all.” 

“ You  would  like  the  place  less  an’  you  knew  it  better,  honest 
fellow,”  said  a gaily-dressed  cavalier  advancing  from  under  the 
shade  of  the  neighboring  doorway. 

“ The  Lord  save  us,  sir ! what  is  it  you  mean  1”  cried  Mala- 
chy with  a sudden  start,  as  much  at  the  stranger’s  abrupt  ap- 
pearance as  the  intimation  his  words  conveyed. 

‘•'Have  a care,  Malachy!”  whispered  Shamus,  “it’s  Sir  John 
Netterville,  no  less !” 

“ I mean,”  said  the  knight  carelessly,  “ that  the  cross  of  Kil- 
kenny hath  not  the  best  of  names.  He  were  a bold  man  here 
in  the  city  who  would  keep  it  company  at  this  lone  hour.” 


220 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“Ah  then,  why  so,  an’  it  please  you,  Sir  John  I”  inquired 
Shamus,  for  Malachy  was  suddenly  struck  dumb  with  fear  and 
bewilderment. 

“You  know  me,  then  V1  said  the  young  knight  turning 
quickly. 

“ Indeed  then  I do,  honored  sir,  there  be  few  amongst  us  to 
whom  the  heir  of  Netterville  is  unbeknown,  and  sure  didn’t  I 
see  you  down  at  Charlemont  not  long  ago!  But  if  it  wouldn’t 
be  making  too  free,  would  you  condescend  to  tell  us  what’s 
amiss  with  the  place  about  here  I” 

“ Maybe  it’s  a gentle  place  it  is  I”*  ventured  to  put  in  Malachy. 

“ Worse  than  that,”  and  Netterville  shook  his  head  with  a 
most  doleful  air.  “ Know  you  that  there  was  a woman  burned 
on  this  very  spot  for  witchcraft  some  three  hundred  years  ago  V * 

“ Mother  of  God  !”  cried  Malachy,  “ a woman  burned — a 
witch — on  this  spot — come,  come,  come>  Shamus !”  raising  his 
voice  each  time  till  it  reached  a scream,  and  clutching  him  at 
the  same  time  by  the  shoulder.  But  Shamus  had  no  mind  to 
go  without  having  his  curiosity  satisfied,  and  he  would  not  stir 
an  inch. 

“Ah  then,  how  was  it  at  all,  Sir  John!  or  is  it  in  earnest 
you’d  be  1” 

“ In  sooth  it  is,  Shamus — (you  see  I know  you , too)' — there  was 
a witch  burned  here  as  sure  as  you  and  I have  life  in  us — just 
on  that  spot  where  your  friend  is  standing ” 

“ Oh,  holy  St.  Malachy !”  cried  the  man  of  Uriel,  “ I’m  done 
for  now !”  and  with  a spring  little  to  be  expected  from  his  sober 
gait  and  mature  years  he  readied  the  steps  of  a door  some 
yards  distant.  Even  that  did  not  seem  a place  of  security,  for 
looking  back,  and  seeing  the  old  spectral  cross  still  so  near,  he 
darted  off  in  the  direction  of  the  bishop,  nor  stopped  till  he 
gained  his  side,  puffing  and  blowing  like  a whale. 

The  burst  of  merry  laughter  which  echoed  through  the  silent 
street  behind  him  sounded  on  Malachy’s  startled  ear  like  the 

* Any  place  supposed  to  be  frequented  by  the  fairies  or  good  peo- 
ple was  set  down  in  common  parlance  as  gentle , just  as  those  sprightly 
elves  were  collectively  styled  “ the  gentry  ’ 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


221 


unholy  mirth  of  a company  of  witches — even  Shamns’s  voice, 
familiar  as  it  was,  gave  Malachy  no  security. 

In  reply  to  the  bishop’s  anxious  inquiry  as  to  what  had  hap- 
pened, poor  Malachy,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  related  in  a fal- 
tering voice  the  cause  of  his  fright. 

“ My  poor  Malachy !”  said  the  bishop  with  affected  commiser- 
ation, “ it  was  truly  an  unlucky  chance  which  brought  you 
thither.” 

“ It  was  all  along  of  your  lordship,”  said  the  spoiled  favorite 
testily  ; “ had  you  and  his  reverence  here  been  in  your  beds  it 
isn’t  wandering  about,  like  a ghost  Td  have  been — oh,  wirra  ! 
wirra  ! what  came  over  me  at  all  1 — as  sure  as  I’m  a living  man 
it  was  on  the  very  spot  I stood  on  she  was  burned,  for  I feel 
ever  since  a kind  of  a weakness  on  me  and  a meagrim  in  my 
head  that  I never  had  before  in  all  my  born  days.  I’ll  tell  you 
what  it  is  now,  my  lord,  you  must  read  an  office  for  me  the  first 
thing  you  do  to-morrow  morning,  or  I’ll  never  be  worth  a pin !” 

“ That  is  the  least  I can  do,  Malachy,”  said  the  bishop  with  a 
sly  glance  at  Father  Peter,  who  found  it  hard  to  keep  from 
laughing,  “ since  you  say  it  is  my  fault,  and,  in  sooth,  I think 
Father  Walsh  might  do  something  that  way,  too,  seeing  that  he 
is  to  blame  as  well  as  I for  keeping  you  out  of  your  bed.” 

“ One  is  enough,”  said  Malachy  with  unusual  gruffness ; “ I’ll 
not  trouble  his  reverence  at  this  time.  But  might  I make  bold  to 
ask  will  you  stand  here  much  longer  I Dear  knows,”  he  added 
in  a half  audible  voice,  “ if  you  were  as  wise  as  you’re  old,  it 
isn’t  here  you’d  be  or  in  such  like  company.  But,  ochone  ! isn’t 
it  like  a child  he  is  with  all  his  learning  !” 

Malachy’s  abrupt  appearance  put  a speedy  end  to  the  conver- 
sation, whatever  might  have  been  its  nature,  and  the  friar  and 
the  bishop  moved  quickly  away  in  opposite  directions,  the  latter 
followed  as  close  as  might  be  by  his  faithful  attendant. 

By  the  time  Sir  John  Netterville  had  enjoyed  the  hearty  laugh 
afforded  him  by  Malachy’s  ludicrous  terror,  that  important  per- 
sonage was  fully  out  of  hearing,  and  the  knight  instantly  ap- 
proached Shamus  with  an  entire  change  of  manner. 

“ Now  that  I have  frightened  away  that  grave  simpleton,” 
said  he,  “I  would  know  from  you,  Shamus,  all  that  you  know 


222 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


yourself  concerning  the  friar  who,  as  you  said  a while  ago,  kid- 
napped Lorcan  Maguire.” 

“ Lord,  sir,  I know  no  more  about  him  than  just  what  I told 
Malachy,”  Shamus  replied,  somewhat  startled  by  the  sudden 
vehemence  of  the  other’s  manner ; “ I did  but  say  that  he  was 
young  and  well-favored — and  that  is  all  I could  say  inasmuch  as 
I never  laid  eyes  on  him  till  yester  morn — you  needn’t  look  so 
hard  at  me,  Sir  John,  for  as  true  as  if  I was  on  my  knees  to  the 
priest  it’s  the  truth  I’m  telling  you.” 

“ And  you  never  saw  that  friar  till  yester  morn  7 — bethink 
you,  Shamus !” 

“ Never,  Sir  John,  never,  as  I’m  a living  man !” 

“ Hath  Sir  Phelim  any  knowledge  of  him,  think  you  V’ 

“ I would  you  might  ask  himself  that  question,”  the  clansman 
replied  somewhat  sharply,  for  he  liked  not  such  questioning ; 
“ it  would  ill-become  me  to  speak  for  my  noble  master.” 

“ You  are  right,  honest  fellow,”  said  Netterville  musingly ; 
“ it  were  well  an’  all  servitors  acted  in  like  manner.  Fare  you 
well,  and  commend  me  to  your  master.” 

“Before  you  go,  Sir  John,”  said  Shamus  timidly,  “maybe 
you’d  be  kind  and  condescending  enough  to  tell  me  was  it  in 
earnest  you  were  about  the  witch  V’ 

“ Surely  yes,  Shamus,”  the  knight  laughingly  replied ; “ there 
be  few  in  Kilkenny  town  who  cannot  tell  you  the  story  of  the 
Lady  Alice  Kelter,  her  two  waiting-maids  and  accomplices, 
Basilia  and  Petronilla,  and  her  wizard  son  William  Utlaw,  with  a 
certain  imp  whom  they  named  Robert  Artisson,  and  who  did  the 
bidding  of  the  powerful  witch  Lady  Alice.”* 

“ Christ  in  heaven  save  us !”  ejaculated  Shamus,  and  raising 
his  right  hand  he  made  with  the  thumb  thereof  the  sacred  sign 
on  his  forehead ; “ and  was  it  her  they  burnt  %” 

“ Not  so,  Shamus,  it  was  the  woman  Basilia.  The  lady’s  rank 
saved  her,  I know  not  how,  and  the  other  waiting-maid  managed 
to  escape  from  the  country.  It  is  a strange  tale,  Shamus,  and 

* For  a curious  account  of  this  strange  episode  in  the  local  history 
of  Kilkenny,  see  Dublin  Penny  Journal , Yol.  I.,  p.  74,  and  Hall’s 
I~*land}  Yol.  II. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


223 


overlong  for  me  to  tell,  but  ask  any  of  the  people  hereabouts 
and  you  will  hear  it  all.  Hark  ! the  cock  proclaimeth  midnight 
— it  is  a dreary  hour  and  a lonesome  place — methinks  you  and 
I were  better  housed  than  shivering  here  in  the  cold  moon’s  ray.” 

So  thought  Shamus,  too,  and  as  he  hurried  away  in  search  of 
“ the  boys  from  his  own  place,”  he  muttered  : “ There’s  no  luck 
with  their  underhand  work,  that’s  the  truth.  Now  there’s  Bish-  • 

op  McMahon  and  that  tricky  friar  above  yonder,  Sir  John  Net-  • 
terville  here,  and  Sir  Phelim  and  General  Preston  down  there 
below  with  their  heads  together — what  it  all  means  I’m  sure  I 
can’t  tell,  but  there’s  something  in  it — that’s  plain.” 


224 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

“ A prison  is  in  all  things  like  a grave, 

Where  we  no  better  privileges  have 
Than  dead  men  ; nor  so  good  ” 

Bishop  King. 

“ Oh  ! give  me  liberty  ! 

For  were  even  Paradise  my  prison, 

Still  I should  long  to  leap  the  crystal  walls.” 

Dryden. 

Whilst  the  Confederates  were  wielding  supreme  power  in 
Kilkenny,  appointing  generals,  framing  laws,  issuing  letters  of 
marque,  and  even  coinrng  money  on  their  own  authority,  and 
astonishing  all  Europe  by  the  boldness  and  promptness  of  their 
measures,  Maguire  and  McMahon  lay  immured  in  their  English 
prison  far  from  home  and  friends,  and  a prey  to  the  nameless 
horrors  of  suspense  in  such  a state  as  theirs.  The  roll  of  Irish 
drums  came  not  to  them  over  the  waters,  or  the  echo  of  their 
nation’s  voice  from  the  halls  of  St.  Canice’s  city.  They  knew 
nothing,  heard  nothing  of  what  was  passing  in  their  own  land, 
and  had  not  even  the  poor  happiness  of  bearing  their  misery 
together.  They  were  separated,  and  their  life  was  a dreary 
blank — an  intolerable  burden  it  would  have  been  were  it  not  for 
the  faith  that  was  strong  within  them  and  kept  them  from  yield- 
ing to  despair.  But  their  hearts  were  growing  cold  and  heavy, 
for  it  seemed  to  them  as  though  all  the  world  had  forgotten 
them  and  left  them  to  their  hard  fate.  This  saddening  convic- 
tion came  slowly  on  Maguire’s  mind;  the  experience  of  his  prison- 
life  had  shown  him  that  a spirit  of  love  kept  watch  over  him, 
and  the  wonders  he  had  seen  accomplished  by  its  agency  buoyed 
him  up  with  delusive  hope,  against  reason  and  probability. 
Long  he  looked  for  the  re-appearance  under  one  shape  or  an- 
other of  her  who  had  promised  never  to  forget  him,  and  this 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


225 


gleam  of  hope  threw  a faint  sunshine  athwart  the  gloom  of  his 
mournful  existence  ; but  as  time  wore  on,  as  day  succeeded  day, 
and  week  followed  week,  and  still  no  change,  no  ripple  on  the 
sluggish  stream,  the  solitary  star  faded  in  the  dim  obscure,  and 
a deeper  dejection  settled  down  on  Connor’s  heart.  It  was  not 
the  dark  gulf  yawning  before  him,  all  the  more  terrible  for  its 
dim  uncertainty,  neither  was  it  the  utter  privation  of  all  comfort 
that  weighed  the  heaviest  on  that  proud,  sensitive  heart,  but  the 
thought  of  being  utterly  forgotten  in  his  dungeon  while  so  many 
of  his  kindred  breathed  the  free  air  of  heaven,  not  to  speak  of 
the  friends  whose  dangerous  counsels  had,  as  he  bitterly  thought, 
hurried  him  into  the  pitfall. 

“ An’  we  had  but  struck  even  one  bl-ow  for  our  country  and 
our  God,  or  been  sharers  in  one  glbrious  action,  this  so  drear 
blank  were  not  within  us,”  he  said  within  himself  full  many  a 
time ; “we  would  then  have  had  at  least  one  bright  spot  to  look 
back  upon,  one  thought  to  cheer  us,  but  caught  like  a brace  of 
bag-foxes,  branded  as  traitors  to  the  king  without  having  drawn 
a sword  or  struck  a blow  in  our  country’s  cause,  and  here  left  to 
pine  in  a foreign  land,  while  at  home  the  work  we  helped  to  plan 
is  done  by  other  hands,  and  the  men  of  our  race,  mayhap,  smit- 
ing the  oppressor  and  rending  their  chains  for  ever, — oh  ! God  ! 
what  a fate  is  ours — poor  lone  scape-goats  pining  in  the  desert 
of  this  accursed  land  !” 

Nevertheless,  forgotten  as  the  prisoners  supposed  themselves 
to  be,  there  were  those  who  never  lost  sight  of  them,  and  were 
sorely  troubled  about  their  spiritual  welfare.  Of  this  number 
was  Mr.  Conyers,  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  a worthy  man  in 
his  own  way  but  somewhat  thick-headed  and  a fanatic  withal. 

Great  was  the  surprise  and  not  small  the  indignation  of  Lord 
Maguire  when  this  godly  gentleman  one  day  paid  him  a visit  for 
the  purpose  of  introducing  a gifted  divine,  a recent  acquaintance 
of  his,  whom  he  declared  endued  with  more  than  mortal  powers 
of  persuasion,  assuredly  for  the  advancement  of  Christ’s  kingdom 
on  earth. 

Is  he  a pr'est'?”  said  Maguire  coldly  and  without  looking  at 
the  preacher. 

“ Young  man,”  said  Conyers,  “ beware  how  you  insult  the 


226 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


children  of  light  by  so  much  as  naming  in  their  presence  the 
doers  of  dark  deeds  !” 

“ An’  he  be  not  what  I said,  I’ll  none  of  him,”  said  the  Baron 
resolutely. 

“ Son  of  Belial,  thou  shalt  hear  him,”  said  the  official  person- 
age with  rising  anger ; “ thou  and  thine  accomplice  in  guilt,  blinded 
as  ye  both  are,  shall  open  your  ears  to  the  words  of  life  from 
the  mouth  of  this  evangelical  man — if  willingly  the  better  for 
yourselves,  but  hear  him  ye  shall !” 

“ Yea,  verily,”  said  the  minister,  a tbin  and  somewhat  ema- 
ciated young  man,  with  a most  woe-begone  expresssion  of  coun- 
tenance ; “ yea,  verily,  Master  Conyers,  we  will  even  sow  our 
seed,  be  the  soil  as  it  may,  and  leave  the  fructifying  thereof  to 
Him  who  giveth  the  increase.  My  lord  of  Essex  hath,  as  you 
know,  a strong  and  merciful  desire  to  snatch  these  poor  brands 
from  the  burning.” 

“ An’  your  lord  of  Essex  would  but  take  heed  of  his  own 
spiritual  affairs,”  said  Maguire  sharply,  “ he  might  find  enough 
to  do.” 

“ Did  I ever  tell  you,  Master  Conyers,”  said  the  melancholy 
preacher,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  prisoner’s  remark, 
“ how  a godly  friend  of  mine  in  Dublin  was  moved  by  the  spirit 
to  attempt  the  conversion  of  these  hardened  sinners 

At  this  Maguire  opened  his  eyes  and  tried  to  catch  a glimpse 
of  the  minister’s  face,  but  it  was  turned  from  him.  Conyers 
answered  in  the  negative. 

“ I marvel  at  my  forgetfulness,  for  verily  the  deeds  of  Osee 
Judkins  were  in  all  men’s  mouths.” 

Hearing  this  name,  so  well  remembered,  a light  suddenly 
broke  on  Maguire,  who  with  difficulty  repressed  the  exclamation 
that  rose  to  his  lips.  The  preacher  half  turned  at  the  moment 
and  glanced  furtively  in  his  direction. 

“ Were  his  gifts  equal  to  those  of  your  learned  companion'?” 
demanded  Conyers. 

“ Say  not  learned ,”  exclaimed  the  divine,  as  if  somewhat 
offended  by  the  term  ; “ that  wonderful  man  is  not  learned  ac- 
cording to  the  ways  of  men — of  books  he  knoweth  nothing — his 
knowledge  is  from  above,  and  his  discourse  with  powers  unseen 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


227 


by  mortal  eye.  Verily  be  is  a powerful  man,  and  for  that  reason 
I named  him  unto  you  as  one  fit  to  deal  with  the  traitor 
McMahon,  whom  men  speak  of  as  more'obdurate  than  his  fellow 
here  present.” 

“ Truly,  master  preacher,”  said  Maguire  laughingly,  “ I am 
much  beholden  to  you  for  your  good  opinion.  Methinlcs  it  were 
pity  to  baulk  such  a fair-spoken  man  in  his  godly  purpose  of 
expounding  unto  me.  Since  your  gifted  friend  hath  been  given 
a hearing  by  McMahon,  I will  not  refuse  to  hear  you , apprising 
you  beforehand,  however,  that  my  faith  is  not  to  be  shaken  by 
the  breath  of  living  man.” 

“ We  shall  see,”  returned  the  minister  calmly,  “ and  Master 
Conyers  will  perchance  favor  me  with  his  company  while  I unfold 
the  high  mysteries  of  Revelation  before  these  eyes  now  darkened 
and  unable  to  bear  the  Gospel  light 

“ I pray  you  excuse  me,  reverend  sir,”  said  Conyers  hastily  ; 
“ 1 have  a multiplicity  of  business  on  hands  this  morning,  and  must, 
therefore,  decline.  I will  now  look  in  to  see  how  it  fareth  with 
Master  Seagrave — that  McMahon  is  a reckless  desperado,  and 
the  man  is  old — though,  to  say  the  truth,  he  looketh  as  though 
he  were  well  able  to  defend  himself — ay ! even  by  the  carnal 
weapon  ! I will  see  to  it,  natheless,  and  return  hither  anon.” 

He  had  hardly  closed  the  door  after  him,  locking  and  double- 
locking  as  usual,  when  the  preacher  commenced  his  polemical 
attack  after  a strange  fashion.  From  beneath  the  folds  of  his 
long  black  cloak  he  drew  forth — not  a Bible — but  a file,  pointing 
at  the  same  time  to  the  straw  which  served  the  Baron  for  a couch. 
The  suggestion  was  instantly  acted  on,  and  the  instrument  once 
out  of  sight,  the  minister  next  pointed  to  the  small  grated  win- 
dow which,  at  a height  of  several  feet,  gave  light  to  the  room. 

“ Here  is  death — all  but  certain,”  whispered  the  stranger ; 
“ beyond  is  freedom — it  may  and  must  be — in  the  dead  of  night 
make  your  file  acquainted  with  that  grating,  but  be  sure  you 
leave  one  bar  uncut,  and  thereto,  on  the  third  night  from  this, 
you  will  fasten  the  end  of  that  rope,”  producing  a small  coil 
from  under  the  clerical  cloak. 

“ But  who — who  are  you  V1  demanded  Maguire  in  the  same 
whispered  accents.  “ Mother  of  Mercy  ! now  I see  your  face, 


228 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


I know  full  well — ah ! I knew  it — there  is  but  one  alive  who 
would  run  such  risk  for  Connor  Maguire.” 

“In  that  you  err,”  'said  the  strange  visitor;  “your  uncle 
Lorcan  hath  willingly  shared  the  danger — for  your  dear  sake.” 

“ Ha  ! he  is,  then,  the  powerful  wrestler  with  the  Evil  One — 
the  man  who  by  means  of  his  unearthly  gifts  is  to  bring  over 
Costelloe  McMahon  1” 

“ Even  so,  but  hearken  to  what  yet  remains.  Having  fastened 
the  rope  to  the  uncut  bar,  you  must  e’en  let  yourself  down, 
trusting  your  life  to  Providence  ; and,  oh  Connor  ! be  careful — 
remembering  that  another  life  is  bound  up  with  yours ! One 
thing  I forgot — on  no  account  descend  till  you  hear  me  say  twice 
over,  1 Babylon  the  mighty  hath  fallen  !’  Note  you  well  what  I 
say  I” 

“ Ay,  Emmeline,  and  I will  do  it,  with  God’s  good  aid,  were  it 
but  for  thy  sweet  sake — life  hath  grown  precious  to  me  of  late 
since  thou,  beloved,  taught  me  its  value.” 

The  look  of  unutterable  affection  which  accompanied  these 
words  sent  a thrill  of  joy  to  Emmeline’s  heart,  and  she  felt  as 
though  death  itself  were  a light  evil  when  balanced  against 
Maguire’s  love.  She  extended  her  hand — a beautiful  hand  it 
was  too — and  the  Baron  seizing  it  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  to 
his  heart,  then  dropped  it,  and,  sighing,  turned  away.  The  dis- 
guised fair  one  eyed  him  with  a conscious,  exulting  smile,  then 
drawing  forth  from  her  loose  hanging  sleeve  a small  Bible,  she 
gave  a peculiar  set  to  the  wig  of  long  black  hair  which  covered 
her  head,  and  composed  her  fair,  chiselled  features  into  the  look 
they  had  worn  in  Conyers’  presence. 

“I  will  e’en  commence  now,”  said  she,  “the  godly  task  set 
before  me,  lest  perchance  we  be  taken  by  surprise.”  Raising 
her  voice,  then,  with  a warning  motion  of  the  finger,  she  spoke : 
“Verily  that  power  which  you  call  the  Church  hath  made 
compact  with  the  Evil  One  to  hand  over  to  him  the  souls  of  men 
— an’  you  come  not  forth  from  her,  Lord  of  Enniskillen ! you 
shall  perish  with  her !” 

The  laugh  which  he  could  not  repress  died  away  on  Maguire’s 
lips,  for  Mr.  Conyers  at  the  moment  opened  the  door,  and  asked 
what  progress  had  been  made. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


229 


“ But  little,  I fear,”  was  the  preacher’s  answer.  “ Heard  you 
not  the  mocking  laugh  wherewith  the  reprobate  greeted  my  poor 
attempt  at  exhortation  V7 

“ He  shall  laugh  the  other  way  ere  long,”  said  the  lieutenant 
sternly,  “but  your  friend  hath  better  hopes  of  the  other.  An’ 
you  pay  them  another  visit,  when  opportunity  offers,  you  may 
find  both  better  disposed.” 

“ They  will  but  lose  their  time,”  said  Maguire  in  a surly  tone 
as  the  pair  withdrew,  the  preacher  promising  to  return  in  a few 
days. 

He  did  return  but  only  to  find  Conyers  and  all  his  understrap- 
pers in  an  agony  of  feaf  and  the  Tower  one -scene  of  confusion. 
In  answer  to  his  urgent  inquiries  oft  repeated,  the  divine  was 
informed  that  the  two  Irish  prisoners  had  made  their  escape  on 
the  previous  night. 

Made  their  escape  1 — how  is  that  I” 

“ We  have  no  time  for  giving  explanations,”  said  Conyers  who 
just  then  made  his  appearance.  “Were  it  not  for  the  recom- 
mendation of  my  lord  of  Essex,  master  what’s  your  name,  I 
would  e’en  suspect  that  you  know  more  about  this  thing  than 
any  here.” 

“ Truly  I know  not  your  meaning,  Master  Conyers,”  said  the 
minister  with  perfect  composure,  “ but  I know  you  have  spoiled 
by  your  unaccountable  neglect  the  most  promising  case  of  con- 
version I have  yet  had.  It  would  have  made  my  fortune  with 
Lord  Essex  and  other  godly  noblemen  now  at  the  head  of  affairs, 
had  I but  won  over  that  pestilent  rebel  and  recusant.  Hath 
his  lordship  — hath  the  honorable  House  knowledge  of  this 
event  ?’ 

Conyers  was  so  angry  that  he  literally  could  not  speak,  seeing 
which  the  minister  quietly  made  his  exit,  saying  with  a formal 
bow  that  he  would  go  on  the  instant  to  the  Earl  of  Essex  to  ac- 
quaint him  with  the  gross  insult  which  had  been  put  upon  him. 

“Who  brought  the  files'? — answer  me  that!”  cried  the  per- 
turbed lieutenant,  following  him  to  the  door. 

“ Files ! — what  files 

“ Why,  the  files  that  cut  the  prison-bars  ol  these  recusants!” 

“ Come  with  me  before  Lord  Essex  and  I will  answer  you — 


230 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


madman  as  you  are !”  returned  the  preacher  in  a contemptuous 
tone,  still  moving  on  towards  the  street. 

But  that  did  not  suit  Conyers’  purpose.  He,  in  common  with 
many  others,  dreaded  Essex  more  than  he  did  the  king,  so  go 
he  would  not.  All  that  day  he  had  a new  cause  of  terror  ex- 
pecting an  angry  visit  from  that  powerful  nobleman,  but  Essex 
never  came,  and  when  Conyers  went  himself  some  days  after  to 
see  how  the  land  lay,  he  was  astounded  to  hear  that  the  preacher 
had  never  made  his  appearance  there  since  the  escape  of  the 
prisoners. 

“ Surely  that  knave  hath  outwitted  us  both,*’  said  the  grim 
Parliamentarian  general  in  a low  voice*  “ and  what  is  worse,  I 
see  not  how  we  can  remedy  the  evil  he  hath  wrought,  so,  I 
think,  Master  Conyers,  the  best  we  can  do  is  to  keep  our  own 
secret  and  say  nothing  of  this  wolf  who  came  upon  us  in  sheep’s 
clothing.  For  this  time  we  can  but  set  a watch  on  the  various 
outlets  of  the  city,  so  that,  if  the  varlets  are  not  already  gone, 
they  must  needs  fall  into  our  hands — but  an’we  catch  them, 
Master  C ony ers ’ ’ 

“ Ay  ! my  good  lord  ! you  will  make  sure  of  them!” 

“ Sure!  ay,  marry,  sure!  Verily,  I tell  you,  Master  Conyers, 
their  next  prison  shall  be  more  secure  than  the  White  Tower.” 
And  he  smiled  a grim  smile. 

Whilst  all  London  was  ringing  with  the  escape  of  the  Liish 
traitors,  and  Conyers,  protected  by  the  powerful  influence  of 
Essex,  was  enabled  to  ward  off  the  storm  of  anger  which  would 
otherwise  have  been  his  destruction,  Maguire  and  McMahon 
were  safely  lodged  in  the  house  of  a faithful  Englishman,  a 
Catholic,  who  had  once  been  a servant  of  the  former  in  Dublin. 
This  man  had  all  along  been  in  the  secret  of  the  projected 
escape,  had  provided  the  files  and  ropes  necessary  to  effect  it, 
and  it  was  to  his  house,  at  his  own  request,  that  the  two  friends 
were  conveyed  by  their  liberators. 

It  was  a raw  cold  night  in  dark  November  and  the  flickering 
flame  of  the  oil-lamps  did  but  little  to  dispel  the  gloom  which 
enveloped  the  great  city.  All  around  the  town  was  dark  and 
silent  as  the  tomb,  save  ever  and  anon  when  the  voice  of  the 
warders  was  heard  proclaiming  how  the  night  went  from  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


231 


several  divisions  of  the  old  fortress.  It  was  a bold  venture  for 
Maguire  and  his  friend  to  swing  themselves  down  from  the 
height  of  the  White  Tower  trusting  to  the  frail  support  of  a rope. 
Yet  they  did  so — even  Maguire  nerved  with  a strong  and  trust- 
ing spirit  by  the  faith  that  was  his  support  throughout,  and  also, 
it  might  be,  by  the  tenacious  love  of  life,  strongest  and  most 
intense  as  the  prospect  of  death  draws  near.  They  had  both 
worked  steadily  at  filing  the  bars  during  the  long  dark  nights, 
and  on  the  third  morning  all  was  in  readiness  agreeable  to  the 
instructions  they  had  received.  How  long  that  day  seemed,  and 
how  the  night-hours  when  they  came  weighed  like  lead  on  the 
hearts  of  the  poor  solitary  “jail-birds,”  as  they  bitterly  styled 
themselves.  Ho.w  anxiously  they  noted  the  sounds  of  life  gra- 
dually dying  away  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Tower,  and  how  many 
fefelrs  and  hopes  chased  each  other  through  their  minds  concern- 
ing the  welfare  of  the  devoted  friends  who  were  running  such 
risk  to  effect  their  liberation.  Fervently  did  they  pray  that, 
whatever  became  of  themselves,  no  harm  might  befal  those  loved 
and  loving  ones  on  whom,  next  to  God,  their  hopes  rested. 

The  night  was  far  advanced  and  in  all  probability  the  warders 
were  cozilv  taking  a nap,  sheltered  in  some  wise  from  the  pierc- 
ing wintry  air,  when  all  at  once  rose  a cry  beyond  the  moat, 
faint  and  subdued,  yet  distinctly  audible  to  the  two  anxious 
listeners  : 

“ Rejoice,  ye  just,  Babylon  the  mighty  hath  fallen !” 

Immediately  Maguire  and  McMahon  removed  the  bars,  already 
cut  asunder,  fastened  the  rope  securely  to  the  one  in  each  win- 
dow left  uncut,  listening  anxiously  the  while  to  ascertain  whether 
the  signal  cry  had  attracted  attention.  After  waiting  for  some 
time  until  they  were  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  slumbering 
guards  of  the  Tower  had  paid  no  attention  to  the  sound,  they 
recommended  themselves  to  God,  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  the 
Saints,  and  at  the  same  moment  both  let  themselves  down,  and 
although  their  heads  were  dizzy  with  the  swift  descent  from  such 
a tremendous  height,  with  the  agonizing  fear  which  only  faith 
and  prayer  could  enable  them  to  bear  and  live  when  they  found 
themselves  suspended  in  mid-air,  yet  on  reaching  the  ground 
they  speedily  and,  as  it  were,  miraculoifcly  recovered  their  breath 


232 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  the  power  of  volition,  and,  by  God’s  great  mercy,  succeeded 
in  swimming  across  the  moat.  Once  on  the  other  side  they 
breathed  more  freely  and  ejaculated  a fervent  thanksgiving  as, 
for  the  first  time,  they  exchanged  a hasty  shake-hands.  The 
outer  wail  was  still  before  them,  but  whilst  they  stood  deliber- 
ating in  whispers  how  they  snould  surmount  that  last  obstacle, 
a ladder  of  ropes  was  thrown  across  it,  and  after  a brief  but 
generous  strife  as  to  who  should  first  ascend,  McMahon,  stouter 
and  more  active  than  his  friend,  seized  the  Baron  and  fairly  lifted 
him  to  the  first  step  of  the  ladder,  whispering  in  his  ear  a char- 
acteristic joke  on  his  slowness  of  motion. 

In  a few  seconds,  the  two  stood  together  safe  and  sound  on 
the  outside,  where  Lorcan  and  the  faithful  Smithson  awaited 
them  in  the  disguise  of  oystermen.  The  ladder  was  hastily  re- 
moved, and  stowed  away  under  Smithson’s  great  jacket,  then, 
without  pausing  to  ask  or  answer  questions,  the  four  marched 
off,  two  by  two,  in  the  direction  of  Drury  Lane,  where  Smith- 
son’s domicile  was  situate. 

“ Maguire,”  said  his  lriend  as  they  trudged  along,  “ how  do 
you  feel  V* 

“ Like  one  in  a dream,”  Connor  replied ; “ I cannot  get  con- 
vinced, do  as  I will,  that  I am  once  more  at  large,  and  I have 
dreamed  that  so  often  that  I know  not  but  this,  too,  may  turn 
out  a delusion.” 

“ Let  me  wake  you  up,  then,”  said  the  mercurial  Tanist,  and 
drawing  his  fist  he  gave  him  a smart  box  on  the  side  of  the  head ; 
“ is  that  a delusion,  think  you 

Before  Maguire  could  answer  a watchman  from  behind 
grasped  McMahon  by  the  shoulder.  <f  What  meaneth  this,  my 
masters, — brawling  on  the  street  at  an  untimeous  hour  I Who  be 
ye  V ’ 

Startled  by  this  apparition  and  the  abrupt  inquiry  which  it 
behoved  them  not  to  answer,  the  friends  exchanged  looks  of 
alarm,  and  began  to  meditate  flight,  but  a low,  cautious  laugh 
from  old  Lorcan  made  them  cast  their  eyes  on  the  supposed 
guardian  of  the  night,  and  the  next  moment  Maguire  had  clasped 
a small  white  hand  that  came  suddenly  out  from  beneath  the 
loose  sleeve  of  the  watchffian’s  coa^. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


233 


“ Thank  God  !”  murmured  a soft  voice  from  under  the  Charley*s 
clumsy  cap,  “ thank  God!  you  are  so  far  safe — but  much  caution 
is  yet  requisite.  Hasten  your  steps.” 

“ But  whither  have  you  been  V1  said  Maguire  anxiously  as 
the  two  fell  a pace  or  so  behind ; “ my  escape  seemed  but  half 
certain  when  I looked  for  you  in  vain.” 

“ Shall  I tell  the  whole  truth  1”  said  the  soft  voice,  and  it 
slightly  trembled  ; “ I was  on  my  knees  under  a projecting  arch, 
within  sight  of  the  Tower  but  seeing  it  not,  for  I dared  not  raise 
mine  eyes — oh  Connor  ! what  I felt  during  those  moments ! — and 
I prayed — ay ! even  to  Mary  the  Virgin  Mother — for  the  first 
time  in  my  life — I begged  of  her  who  had  herself  known  human 
agony,  to  look  with  pity  on  mine,  and  bring  you  safe  through 
that  awful  moment — nay,  do  not  laugh.”  . 

“ Laugh,  Emmeline  ! not  for  ten  thousand  worlds  !”  said  the 
chief  with  thrilling  earnestness ; “your  words  are  as  balm  to 
my  sorrow-worn  heart — ay  ! precious  as  the  honey-dew  of 
eastern  story.  But  where  are  you  lodged 

“ At  the  house  of  this  good  man,”  meaning  Smithson  ; “ your 
uncle  and  I have  been  well  accommodated,  but  now  methinks 
it  were  well  for  us  to  go  elsewhere — I,  at  least — until  such  time 
as  you  are  all  enabled  to  embark  for  Ireland,  the  which  may 
not  be  for  some  weeks  to  come.” 

“But  whither — whither  would  you  god”  Maguire  anxiously 
inquired. 

“ Nay,  fear  not  for  me — there  be  relatives  of  my  mother  here 
in  town  cu  whom  I will  go  in  my  own  proper  semblance.  There, 
your  uncle  is  looking  back — fearing,  perchance,  that  some  super- 
natural agency — whereof  I know  not  but  he  suspecteth  me  the 
possessor — may  spirit  you  away  beyond  his  ken ! Being  a 
watchman,  I must  fall  far  behind,  moreover,  lest  some  prying 
eye  might  detect  our  companionship  ! Fare  you  well !” 

“ Be  that  your  spiritual  counsellor  T’  said  McMahon,  finding 
his  friend  again  alongside ; “ an’  it  be,  I begin  to  incline  to  your 
uncle’s  notions  concerning  the  guardian  spirits  of  your  race.  I 
have  not  yet  heard  from  you  who  or  what  this  benefactor  is,  but, 
feeling  that  we  owe  our  lives  to  him,  her,  or  it,  I desire  to  tender 
my  share  of  the  thanks  due,  at  the  next  appearance  of  the 


234 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


gracious  vision  ! I pray  you  bear  that  in  mind,  Connor!  lucky 
fellow  as  you  needs  must  be  !” 

Whilst  these  things  were  going  on  in  the  English  metropolis, 
the  belligerent  parties  in  Ireland  were  pushing  on  the  war  with 
increasing  vigor  and  activity.  Ormond,  with  the  comparatively 
small  army  at  his  command,  was  rapidly  overrunning  Leinster, 
while  Preston’s  levies  were  being  raised  and  prepared  for  effective 
service.  Lord  Inchiquin  and  Lord  Broghill,  with  Coote,  Vava- 
sour and  other  generals  of  note,  were  keeping  their  ground,  and, 
more  than  that,  in  Munster,  notwithstanding  that  the  Confederates 
were  masters  of  the  greater  portion  of  that  province.  Muskerry 
and  Mountgarret  had  gathered  some  laurels,  and  Colonel  Butler 
had  taken  many  a castle  since  the  day  he  so  chivalrously  sent 
Lady  Ormond  in  safety  from  Carrick’s  walls.  O’Byrne  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  many  a skirmish  with  the  enemy  amongst 
his  native  mountains,  and  Sir  John  Netterville,  with  Richard 
Butler,  a younger  brother  of  Ormond,  had  also  gained  some  ad- 
vantages for  the  Confederates.  The  former  had  defended  Net- 
terville Castle  during  a protracted  siege  until  relieved  by  a brigade 
under  the  command  of  Lord  Dunboyne,  another  brave  and  effi- 
cient officer.  Sir  James  Billon  and  Sir  Morgan  Cavanagh  had 
proved  their  prowess  in  various  engagements  with  Ormond’s 
forces  on  the  fertile  plains  of  Leinster.  One  and  all  they  had 
gone  forth  from  the  Council  Chamber  in  Kilkenny  (where  the 
Supreme  Council  still  sat)  filled  with  new  ardor  and  a more  in- 
tense devotion  to  the  sacred  cause  they  had  espoused. 

When  Owen  Roe  and  the  other  Ulster  chiefs  turned  their  steps 
homeward  from  Kilkenny,  they  found  on  approaching  their  own 
borders  that  some  new  impetus  had  been  given  to  the  motions 
of  the  clans,  especially  those  of  Tyrone  and  Armagh.  The 
whole  country  was  in  motion,  and  everywhere  groups  of  men 
were  seen  with  lowering  brows  and  moody  looks  discussing  some 
subject  that  seemed  strangely  to  excite  them.  Weapons,  too, 
were  being  whetted,  and  bows  were  newly  strung,  and  the  long 
javelins  of  tough  mountain  ash  used  with  such  tremendous  effect 
by  the  Irish  spearmen  were  everywhere  seen  in  a forward  state 
of  preparation.  The  strangest  thing  of  all  was  that  there  was 
no  information  to  be  got  as  to  the  cause  of  this  sudden  commo- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


235 


tion.  In  the  border  countries,  on  the  outskirts  of  Ulster,  the 
people  seemed  not  to  know  : they  had  heard  of  a great  rising 
to  take  place  when  Owen  Roe  got  back  from  Kilkenny  ^nearer 
home,  there  was  word  of  some  strange  event  that  had  come  like 
a thunderbolt  on  the  half-awakened  clans  and  roused  them  to 
sudden  fury.  What  had  taken  place  no  one  could  exactly  tell, 
but  it  was  something  very  terrible,  as  every  one  said,  and  at  last 
it  assumed  the  vague,  though  palpable  form  of  “ another  black 
deed  of  the  Sassums  or  Albinachs.*” 

“ But  what — what  is  it 

“ Oh!  the  sorra  one  of  me  knows — aren’t  they  always  at  some 
devilment  or  another — but  they  say  this  was  past  the  common, 
and  the  men  are  all  on  for  a great  battle  as  soon  as  the  general 
comes  home — Lord  send  him  safe  to  us  ! — I don’t  know  what 
they’re  about  up  the  country,  but  we  want  him  badly  here !” 
Owen  Roe  smiled  at  those  who  were  with  him  on  hearing  this 
from  an  ancient  dame  but  a few  miles  from  Charlemont.  “ Me- 
thinks,”  said  he,  “ they  are  all  bent  on  keeping  us  in  the  dark — 
but  hark  ! is  not  that  the  distant  sound  of  wailing  1 — ay ! is  it — 
loud  and  many-voiced  ! — ride  on,  my  men,  for  my  heart  tells  me 
that  some  evil  thing  hath  befallen  our  poor  people  !” 

The  same  excitement  was  visible  all  through  the  country  as 
the  travellers  now  dashed  along  at  full  speed,  but  Owen  Roe 
asked  no  further  questions,  till,  reaching  the  banks  of  the  Black- 
water,  a short  distance  from  the  castle,  where  he  intended  to 
cross,  he  encountered  a party  of  the  Rapparees  with  Florry 
Muldoon  at  their  head,  marching  on  toot  in  the  direction  of  old 
Benburb.  A hearty  cheer  of  welcome  burst  from  the  brave  fel- 
lows as  they  recognized  the  general. 

“ Now,  at  least,  wo  shall  hear  all,”  said  Owen,  and  accosting 
Florry,  he  demanded  what  it  was  that  had  set  the  country  all  in 
a blaze. 

“ The  old  story,  general,”  said  the  old  Rapparee  with  a kin- 
dling eye;  “ the  Scotch  devils,  finding  you  and  Sir  Phelim  and 
most  of  the  chiefs  away,  broke  in  on  us  and  carried  off  the  cat- 
tle and — and ” 


* The  Gaelic  name  for  the  Scotch. 


236 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ And  what  else  Did  they  kill  any  one  V * 

“Well!  and  to  be  sure  they  did — the  murdering  villians,  to 
be  sure  they  did — when  did  they  ever  come  and  go  among  us 
without  shedding  blood — och  wirra ! wirra ! wirra  !” 

“ But  did  they  do  much  harm  this  time  1”  asked  Owen  with 
some  strange  presentiment  knocking  at  his  heart. 

“ It’s  as  well  for  you  ask  no  more  questions,  general  dear,” 
said  the  well-known  voice  of  Donogli,  “ you’ll  know  it  all  before 
long,  and  sorrow  is  time  enough  when  it  comes.  Away  with 
you,  Florry,  and  get  them  pikes  from  O’Flanagan  if  he  has  them 
ready.  We’ll  be  wanting  them  now,  please  God,  when  once  the 
general’s  home  again.  Don’t  come  back  without  them,  and  tell 
him  I said  so  !” 

“ Revenge  ! revenge  !”  shouted  the  woodsmen  ; “ blood  for 
blood !” 

“ I tell  yon  it’s  at  hand  now,”  said  their  young  leader;  “be 
off  and  do  as  I bid  you,  and  you’ll  have  it  all  the  sooner.” 

“ In  God’s  name  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  V ’ said  O’Neill, 
as  the  Rapparees  marched  away  obedient  to  the  last  stern  com- 
mand. “ Here  I find  the  country  all  astir — I am  told  darkly 
of  cruel  murders  and  robbery  and  what  not,  yet  no  man  seemeth 
willing  to  give  me  much  knowledge  anent  the  mishap  whatever 
it  be !” 

“ Why,  the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,  general,”  said  the 
young  man  in  a perturbed  voice,  “ Stewart  came  in  at  one  side 
on  us  and  Cole  at  the  other,  about  ten  days  agone,  and,  thinking 
they’d  have  it  all  their  own  way,  they  killed  and  destroyed  what- 
ever came  under  their  hands,  and  although  we  poor  wood-kern 
peppered  them  well  at  times  when  we  got  them  in  detachments 
here  or  there,  or  wherever  their  numbers  were  of  no  use  to 
them,  still  the  devils  made  good  their  point  and  fleeced  the  coun- 
try right  and  left — ay  ! and  took  some  precious  lives,  too — but 
they  did  one  deed  at  last  that  brought  vengeance  on  them  swift 
and  sure,  and  drove  them  back  to  their  lair  again.” 

“ And  what  was  that  I” 

“ Come  with  me  to  Benburb,  an’  you  be  not  over  tired,  and 
you  will  know  all !” 

“ Tired !”  said  Owen,  “ why,  an*  I were  hardly  able  to  sit  my 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


237 


horse  I would  go  to  have  this  mystery  solved.  What  say  you 
friends  and  comrades  V* 

Most  of  those  with  him  were  followers  or  adherents,  and  all 
declared  themselves  willing  to  go,  so  turning  their  horses’  heads, 
on  they  dashed  in  the  wake  of  Donogh,  who  had  jumped  on  a 
horse  that  was  grazing  by  the  river  side,  and,  without  saddle  or 
bridle,  kept  his  place  in  the  van  of  the  flying  cavalcade. 

The  wintry  day  was  drawing  to  a close  when  they  reached 
Benburb,  and  the  deepening  gloom  of  evening  was  settling  cold 
and  cheerless  around  the  old  castle,  but  as  Owen  glanced  upwards 
at  its  frowning  walls,  a light  suddenly  appeared  through  one  of 
the  narrow  loop-holes,  and  the  chieftain  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
looked  again,  for,  to  his  knowledge,  no  living  thing  was  within 
the  ruined  fortress. 

“ Donogh !”  said  he,  “ do  mine  eyes  deceive  me,  or  is  that  a 
light  in  the  castle  up  yonder  %n 

“ Indeed,  then,  it  is,  general,  and  look  if  there  be  not  a green 
flag  on  the  top.  Well!  myself  didn’t  see  that  before — they  got 
some  of  the  boys  to  put  it  up,  expecting  the  general’s  return,” 
he  musingly  said,  partly  to  himself,  “ but,  come  in,  General 
O’Neill ! and  you’ll  find  one  to  read  your  riddle  !” 

The  old  stone  staircase  leading  upwards  from  the  hall  was 
still,  if  not  perfect,  at  least  passable ; and  a stream  of  faint, 
flickering  light  from  above  made  its  rugged  steps  dimly  visible 
through  the  yawning  darkness  of  the  hall  beneath.  A stillness 
like  that  of  death  brooded  over  the  dreary  spot,  and  many  a 
stout  heart  wnuld  have  feared — 

“ To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom,” 

but  Owen  Roe,  undeterred  by  the  utter  wildness  and  desolation 
of  the  scene,  was  only  the  more  anxious  to  penetrate  the  mys- 
tery so  suddenly  connected  with  the  old  castle  of  his  ancestors. 

“ Whither  now  V*  said  he  in  a whisper  to  Donogh,  but  the 
whisper,  low  as  it  was.  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  long-deserted 
nail. 

“Up — up,  general! — only  yourself,  though,  and  hie  to  show 
you  the  wav.” 

“ By  my  father’s  grave,  Captain  Donogh,”  said  a fiery  young 


238 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


follower  of  the  chief,  “ you  do  take  us  coolly — think  you  we  came 
so  far  from  our  road  to  see  or  hear  nothing,  and  stand  shivering, 
moreover,  in  the  cold  frosty  air,  among  ghosts  and  goblins,  and 
all  such  things,  till  mayhap  it’s  enchanted  we’d  be  ourselves  ?” 

“ Never  mind,  Shane,  my  boy,”  whispered  the  ftapparee  in  a 
soothing  tone,  for  he  heard  most  of  the  others  grumbling  in  like 
manner,  though  not  so  loudly,  “ we’ll  give  you  the  front  rank 
some  of  these  days,  and  that  will  be  more  pleasing  to  you  than 
what  you’d  see  up  yonder,  for,  God  he  knoweth,  it  is  a pitiful 
siaht !” 

Meanwhile  Owen  had  made  bis  way  up  the  rough,  moss-grown 
staircase,  his  long  sword  clattering  as  he  went,  and  the  plume 
on  his  hat  dancing  with  every  step.  Reaching  the  t@p,  he  stood 
still  transfixed,  as  it  were,  with  wonder,  we  may  not  say  affright. 
A scene  was  before  him  which  he  never  forgot,  never  could  for- 
get, till  his  dying  day.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  large  square 
chamber  on  a couch  made  of  straw  and  mountain  heather  piled 
to  some  height,  lay  a sheeted  corpse,  stiff,  and  wan,  and  ghastly 
in  the  light  of  three  small  tapers  placed  at  the  head.  Close  by 
knelt  a female  figure  wrapped  in  a dark-colored  mantle,  the 
folds  of  which  could  not  conceal  the  exquisite  symmetry  and 
graceful  outline  of  the  form  within.  There  was  beauty,  too,  and 
grace  in  the  bowed  head  and  the  clasped  hands  and  the  statue- 
like repose  of  the  whole  figure.  Around,  like  so  many  enchanted 
beings,  were  a dozen  or  so  of  women  of  all  ages,  some  kneeling, 
some  squatted  on  the  flagged  floor,  but  all  rocking  to  and  fro 
after  the  manner  of  Irish  mourners,  and  each  telling  her  beads 
devoutly.  At  the  foot  of  the  death-couch  stood  Angus  Dhu,  his 
arms  folded  and  his  tearful  eyes  fixed  on  the  corpse.  No  sound 
from  below  had  disturbed  the  mourners,  and  Owen’s  exclamation 
of  wonder  was  the  first  intimation  they  got  of  other  presence 
than  their  own. 

“ Mary.  Mother!”  cried  the  chieftain,  “who  have  we  here'?” 
— and  his  voice  trembled  with  a nameless  fear. 

“ The  ge.neral  !”  said  Angus  joyfully — the  women  clapped 
their  hands,  and  all  but  shouted  for  joy — the  kneeling  figure 
stood  up  and  turned  towads  O’Neill — it  was  Judith  O’Cahan ! 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


239 


CHAPTER  XX. 

. Murder  itself  is  past  all  expiation, 

The  greatest  crime  that  nature  doth  abhor.” 

Goffe. 

“ Treason  and  murder  ever  kept  together, 

As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  each  other’s  purpose  ” 

Shakespeare. 

There  was  no  stormy  outburst  of  grief,  no  outward  sign  of 
emotion  on  the  part  of  Judith  as  she  and  O’Neill  stood  again 
face  to  face.  Indeed  Owen  of  the  two  betrayed  the  most  agita- 
tion, as,  pointing  to  the  corpse,  he  said : “ She  is  gone,  then, 
Judith  V* 

“ Even  so,  general ! the  hunted  hare  hath  found  rest  at  last, 
and  I am  motherless.” 

“But  how — when  1 what  caused  her  death  V1 

“ The  bayonets  of  Stewart’s  soldiers,”  said  Judith  with  pre- 
ternatural calmness,  and  a stern  compression  of  the  lips  that 
showed  a gush  of  feeling  welling  up  within  ; “ eight  dajrs  ago  they 
gave  her  her  death,  but  the  breath  was  in  her  till  yesternoon ” 

“Queen  of  Heaven!  Judith  O’Cahan,”  cried  Owen  O’Neill 
starting  and  changing  color,  “ how  is  this  1 Did  the  Sassums 
murder  your  mother  1” 

“ I have  said  it !” 

“But  where — how  1” 

Judith  made  an  effort  to  speak,  then  raised  her  hand  to  her 
forehead  and  pressed  it  hard,  hard. 

“ An’  your  ladyship  will  give  me  leave,”  said  Angus  Dhu, 
“ I will  tell  the  general  how  it  was” — Judith  nodded  and  he  went 
on  : “You  were  only  a day  or  two  gone,  general,  when  the  old 
lady,  Heavens  be  her  bed ! took  a notion  that  her  end  wasn't  far 
off,  and  nothing  would  please  her  till  we  went  and  brought  her 


240 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


the  priest.  She  got  going  to  her  duty,  thank  God,  and  so 
did  every  one  in  the  Castle  when  they  had  the  chance,  not  know- 
ing in  these  days  when  their  hour  might  come — after  that  her 
ladyship  got  the  greatest  strength  ever  you  seen  for  a start,  and 
what  did  she  take  into  her  head  but  that  she  must  go  and  die 
in  her  own  old  Castle  of  Dungiven.  Well,  sure,  nobody  would 
make  so  free  as  to  laugh  at  her,  but  the  lady  Judith  here  did 
all  she  could  to  get  her  persuaded  not  to  leave  Charlemont  where 
she  was  safe  and  well  cared  for.  But  she  might  as  well  talk  to 
the  winds,  go  to  Dungiven  the  old  madam  would,  for  she  hadn’t 
many  days  to  live,  she  said,  and  she  couldn’t  die  in  peace  any- 
where else.  Well ! after  that,  general,  no  one  could  say  again 
her,  so  Manus  O’Neill  that  you  left  in  charge  at  the  Castle,  got 
a kind  of  a litter  made  for  the  two  ladies,  and  sent  a score  or  so 
of  horsemen  with  them — our  captain  wanted  to  send  a party  of 
his  own  boys  with  them  but  Manus  wouldn’t  hear  of  it,  and  away 
they  all  went — vo  ! vo ! they  did,  but — but  they  never  reached 
Dungiven,  for  before  they  had  crossed  the  county  march — with 
Tyrone  heather  still  under  their  horses’  feet — they  fell  in  with  a 
troop  of  Stewart’s  cavalry  and — and ” 

“ And  what'?” 

“ And  your  brave  clansmen  were  most  all  cut  to  pieces  trying 
to  keep  the  ladies  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  scarlet  devils, 
and  old  madam  was  stabbed  in  two  or  three  places,  and  if  her 
ladyship  here  to  the  fore  wasn’t  murdered,  too,  it  was  because 
the  officer  kept  telling  his  bloody  crew  to  take  her  alive,  and  not 
to  harm  her  or  he’d  have  their  lives ” 

“ And  because,  Angus,  the  Rapparees  were  upon  them  before 
they  could  finish  their  work — you  forgot  that,  my  good  lad — but 
I have  not  forgotten  that  I owe  you  and  Donogh,  and  the  other 
brave  fellows  who  were  with  you,  more,  a thousand  times  more, 
than  my  life.” 

“ Speak  not  of  it,  lady  !”  said  the  youth  modestly  ; “ our  cap- 
tain did  but  keep  on  your  track,  fearing  lest  your  escort  might 
not  be  sufficient — it  was  God  that  brought  us  there  and  your 
good  angel !” 

“ And  what  did  you,  Angus '?”  said  O’Neill  turning  quickly. 

“ Well,  general ! if  we  weren’t  in  time  to  save  the  old  madam, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


241 


we  did  the  next  best,  I’m  thinking.  We  sent  the  villains  home 
with  a dead  officer  instead  of  a live  one,  and  made  them  less  by 
a dozen  or  so ” 

“ And  } ourselves  1”  The  youth’s  countenance  fell,  and  he 
remained  silent. 

“ Alas  ! general,”  said  Judith  sorrowfully,  “ they  paid  dearly 
enough  for  their  victory — they  laid  O’Boyle  and  two  more  of 
their  best  men  in  Eglish  mould  next  day,  side  by  side  with  the 
brave  O’Neills  who  like  them  fell  in  our  defence  ! — oh ! mother  ! 
mother !”  she  said,  turning  passionately  to  the  corpse,  “ what  a 
heavy  woe  came  of  your  wayward  wish  !” 

“ But  why,  why  came  you  hither  demanded  Owen.  “ Why 
not  return  to  Charlemont 

“ Because,”  said  Judith,  “ I saw  that  the  hand  of  death  was 
on  my  mother,  and  I took  her  here  to  die  where  solitude  and 
desolation  were  around  us  like  unto  mine  own  heart.” 

There  was  another  reason  which  Judith  kept  to  herself,  but 
which  the  keen  glance  ^of  Owen  Roe  read  in  her  downcast  eye 
and  the  faint  flush  on  her  worn  cheek.  She  could  not  with  pro- 
priety have  remained  alone  in  the  garrison,  so  she  conveyed  her 
dying  parent  to  the  tenantless  mansion  of  Benburb,  and  the 
Brantree  women  came  to  keep  her  company  and  “ do  what  they 
could  for  the  old  madam.”  Their  services  were  not  long  re- 
quired on  behalf  of  the  aged  widow  of  O’Cahan.  Death  released 
her  from  her  sufferings,  and  they  had  but  to  render  the  last  solemn 
duties  to  her  corpse,  and  watch  and  pray  with  the  mourner 
whom  her  death  left  alone  in  the  wrnrld. 

There  was  a burning  glow  on  O’Neill’s  cheek  as  he  listened  to 
this  piteous  tale,  but  he  made  no  show  of  anger.  When  all  was 
told  he  turned  and  looked  at  the  corpse,  lying  there  so  calm  and 
still  after  such  a life  of  storm,  with  the  nobleness  of  her  origin 
clearly  stamped  on  her  marble-like  features,  and  the  ring  that 
had  bound  her  to  O’Cahan  still  glittering  on  the  shrunken  hand 
• stretched  by  her  side  in  the  rigidity  of  death  ; he  thought  of  the 
wild  July  storm,  and  the  ruined  dwelling,  and  the  strange  meet- 
ing ; he  remembered  that  the  lips  now  cold  in  death  before  him 
had  pronounced  his  first  welcome  to  his  fatherland,  and  a whirls 
21 


242 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


wind  of  feeling  rushed  upon  his 'soul,  and,  sinking  on  one  knee, 
he  bowed  his  head  on  his  hand  and  murmured  : 

“ May  Heaven  be  propitious  to  you,  noble  daughter  of  Ma- 
guire, sorrowful  widow  of  O’Cahan  1 — dark  were  your  latter 
years  on  earth,  and  mournful  was  your  end ! What  things  I 
had  planned  for  your  behoof  it  boots  not  now  to  tell — you  are 
better,  I trust,  than  I could  make  you,  and  with  that  hope  I 
must  needs  rest  content,  since  nought  remaineth  for  me  to  do. 
As  a Christian  man  I may  not  think  of  revenge — the  arm  that  is 
raised  to  smite  your  murderers  must  do  it  from  other,  holier 
motives.  Oh  ! would  that  you  had  known  how  I longed  to  right 
your  wrongs ! would  that  I had  done  aught  to  serve  you  !” 

“ An’  that  be  your  wish,”  said  Judith,  “ be  consoled — my 
mother,  feeble  as  her  mind  had  grown,  knew  well  what  were 
your  intentions  in  her  regard — the  hope  of  seeing  you  before 
life  departed  from  her  did  keep  her  spirit,  I verily  believe,  some 

days  in  the  flesh,  and  her  last  wish  is  for  you  to  carry  out ” 

“Name  it!” 

“ It  relates  to  the  disposal  of  her  remains,”  said  Judith,  and 
lowering  her  voice  almost  to  a whisper  she  repeated  the  solemn 
charge  which,  as  it  happened,  involved  both  trouble  and  danger, 
and  so  Judith  remarked. 

“ It  shall  be  done,”  said  the  chieftain  in  a faltering  voice,  for 
he  was  touched  by  the  trust  reposed  in  him  by  the  honored  dead. 

“ Those  of  her  owm  kin,”  resumed  Judith,  “ she  might  not  ask 
to  do  this  thing,  seeing  that  it  is  not  her  will  to  rest  amongst 
them.” 

Before  any  more  had  passed  a great  commotion  was  heard  on 
the  stairs,  and  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  suddenly  appeared  at  the  top. 
Some  of  his  followers,  seeking  to  force  their  wray  after  him,  were 
seized  on  the  stairs  by  those  below  and  set  on  their  feet  outside 
the  door,  “ forsooth  when  we  were  kept  down  here  freezing  in 
the  dark,  you  shall  not  mount  without  our  master’s  leave.” 

Being  fewer  they  had  to  submit,  and  Sir  Phelim,  at  the  mo-  • 
ment,  took  little  note  of  what  was  passing  behind  him.  Striding 
across  the  room,  he  looked  first  at  the  corpse,  then  at  Judith, 
then  at  Owen  Roe,  and  some  mighty  torrent  of  passion  seemed 
gathering  to  burst  forth. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


243 


“ I heard  of  this/’  said  he,  11  many  miles  from  here,  but  I 
could  not  enter  my  house  until  I had  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes. 
And  so  they  killed  her,  Judith? — they  killed  that  old,  venerable 
woman  with  the  snows  of  seventy  winters  on  her  head,  and  the 
grandeur  of  her  princely  line  stamped  on  her  aged  face.  They 
killed  her — did  they  not  ?” 

“ Sir  Phelim,  they  did  !” 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  the  knight’s  face  and  his  whole 
frame  shook  with  stormy  anger.  Grasping  the  hilt  of  his  sword 
with  a sort  of  convulsive  motion,  he  made  as  though  he  wrould 
sheath  it  in  some  one’s  flesh  on  the  instant,  but  quickly  with- 
drawing his  hand,  he  turned  suddenly  and  seized  his  kinsman 
by  the  shoulder. 

“ Owen  Mac  Art !”  he  cried,  “ can  you  stand  this  ?” 

“ No  better,  it  may  be,  than  you,”  said  Owen  with  forced 
composure. 

“ I have  been  your  enemy,  Owen,  I tell  you  plainly,”  said  the 
impetuous  knight,  “ but  for  the  dear  sake  of  revenge — revenge 
for  this  foul  murder,  not  to  speak  of  all  the  others — I will  join 
you  heart  and  hand — by  the  Great——” 

“Hush!  hush!”  said  Owen  eagerly,  “ swear  not  at  all — an’ 
your  word  be  not  sufficient,  your  oath  would  give  me  no  greater 
security.  I believe  you,  and  will  gladly  accept  your  aid  !” 

“ By  the  Mass,  then,  Owen,  we’ll  not  leave  an  old  hag  of 
their  sort  in  the  seven  parishes  with  whole  bones  in  her  skin !” 
“For  shame,  Sir  Phelim!  for  shame,”  said  Owen  sternly; 
“ what  had  their  old  women  to  do  with  the  death  of  Lady 
O’Cahan  ? — I never  yet  harmed  woman  or  child,  nor  will  I begin 
now  when  I battle  for  God  and  the  right !” 

“ Well!  well ! no  need  to  quarrel  about  it — you’ll  have  your 
way,  aud  I mine,  but  we’ll  pull  together  anyhow.” 

“ I accept  your  alliance  on  no  such  terms,”  said  Owen;  “ there 
hath  been  over  much  of  this  bloody  retaliation  even  on  our  side 
since  the  war  commenced,  and  I tell  you  I will  never  stain  my 
sword  with  such  foul  murder,  nor  will  I connive  at  it  in  others.” 
“ By  the — ahem  ! by  the  boot,  Owen,  you  are  too  squeamish 
by  half — these  bloody-minded  foreigners  will  have  the  best  of 
it, Take  my  word,  an’  you  make  war  in  that  fashion.  Let  us  be 


244 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


friends,  nevertheless,  for  the  sake  of  her  who  lieth  there  stiff 
and  stark — united  we  can  do  much,  divided  less  than  nothing.” 

“It  is  well,  Sir  Phelim  !”  said  Owen  with  emotion,  aud  he 
reached  his  hand  to  his  kinsman,  who  gave  it  such  a shake  as 
though  he  meant  to  wrench  it  from  ihe  arm. 

“Now,  Judith,”  said  the  knight,  “seeing  that  matter  settled; 
I would  know  what  is  to  he  done  in  regard  to  your  mother’s 
interment.” 

“ Nought  have  I to  say  on  that  head,”  she  replied  coldly;  “ it 
is  already  provided  for.  ’ 

“ Ay,  it  is  ever  thus,”  said  Sir  Phelim,  bitterly,  “ whatsoever 
I do  is  displeasing  to  you,  and  even  death  itself  cannot  win  a 
civil  word  for  me— I shame  to  see  the  widow  of  O’Cahan  laid 
out  in  this  ruinous  place,  long  tenanted  only  by  bats  and  owls, 
and  such  like,  and  I marvel  at  you,  her  daughter,  that  you  do 
take  the  matter  so  coolly — I call  God  to  witness  that  the. fault 
resteth  on  your  own  shoulders,  and  no  ways  on  mine,  seeing 
that  my  Castle  of  Kinnard,  or  any  other  house  whereof  I am 
master,  hath  been  at  your  disposal.” 

“ Sir  Phelim,  I am  a-weary  of  your  presence,”  said  Juditb} 
haughtily  ; “ this  house  is  mine,  in  that  I have  borrowed  it  of  the 
O’Neill,”  bowing  to  Owen,  “ for  my  present  necessity — I pray 
you  leave  me  alone  with  my  dead  and  her  mourners !” 

The  thunder-cloud  that  instantly  gathered  on  Phelim’s  brow 
was  dispelled  by  the  calm  good  sense  of  Owen,  who,  although 
well  aware  that  Judith’s  uncivil  hint  was  not  meant  for  him, 
nevertheless  appeared  to  take  it  so,  and,  seizing  his  kinsman  by 
the  arm,  he  said  : 

“ The  Lady  Judith  is  right,  Sir  Phelim  ! — this  be  no  place  for 
rough  soldiers — men  such  as  we — let  us  'go  hence — there  is  a cer- 
tain matter  whereof  I would  treat  with  you  in  private !” 

“ I will  bury  her  as  becomcth  her  blood,  were  it  but  to  spite 
you,”  said  Phelim  shaking  his  fist  at  Judith  with  as  much  ve- 
hemence as  though  he  meant  to  strike  her;  “ see  that  you  play 
me  no  trick  in  this  matter,  or,  by  the  soul  of  Heremon  ! I will 
make  you  rue  it !” 

A smile  of  defiance  was  Judith’s  sole  answer,  and,  ta^jng 
leave  of  her  only  by  a look,  Owen  drew  the  angry  knight  awayf 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  245 

not,  however,  until  both  had  knelt  and  offered  up  a silent  Pater 
and  Ave  for  the  repose  of  the  parted  soul.  As  the  two  chief- 
tains retired,  the  wild  death-song  of  the  women,  interrupted  by 
their  appearance,  was  again  renewed. 

On  the  second  day  after  that,  a funeral  procession,  grand  and 
solemn  as  the  chieftains  of  Tyr-Owen  could  make  it,  set  forth 
from  the  Castle  of  Benburb.  Owen  and  Phelim  were  both  there 
with  their  respective  followers,  all  well  mounted  and  armed  to 
the  teeth,  in  preparation  for  any  sudden  assault.  It  was  a 
goodly  array  of  the  Kinel-Ovven,  and  the  hero  of  Arras  might 
well  be  pardoned  if  he  looked  on  them  with  eyes  of  pride.  The 
corpse  of  the  Lady  O’Cahan  was  placed  on  a sort  of  bier  with 
wheels,  drawn  by  four  coal-black  horses.  Eight  women  in  dark- 
colored  cloaks  and  hoods  sat  on  either  side  of  the  coffin  keening 
their  low  rflournful  strain,  descriptive  of  the  nobleness  and  vir- 
tue of  the  dead,  the  long  line  of  chieftains  from  whom  she 
sprang,  and  the  woes  that  had  made  her  latter  days  evil.  Then 
changing  their  tone  they  would  tell  how  the  fierce  Albinach 
shed  her  blood,  and  how  many  curses  would  fall  on  his  seven 
generations  for  that  foul  deed.  Now  low,  and  sad,  and  tender, 
now  loud,  and  wild,  and  stirring  as  a trumpet’s  voice,  that  wail  re" 
sounded  along  the  hill-sides,  and  through  the  valleys  of  Tyr- 
Owen,  and  the  people,  as  they  heard  it,  came  forth  on  the  road 
sides  to  see  who  it  was  that  was  thus  passing  to  “ the  lone  place 
of  tombs,”  and,  seeing  the  two  chieftains,  and  the  mounted  cav- 
alcade, and  the  lady  so  pale  and  so  beautiful  borne  by  four  stout 
gallowglasses  on  a litter  close  behind  the  corpse,  they  said  to 
each  other,  “ some  great  one  of  the  old  blood  is  departed,”  and 
falling  on  their  knees,  they  offered  up  a fervent  prayer  for  that 
soul’s  welfare.  And  Judith  cast  a gracious  look  on  these  pious 
supplicants,  for  dearly  did  she  prize  their  orisons  on  behalf  of 
the  dead. 

At  length  the  mournful  procession  approached  the  confines  of 
Derry,  and  soon  from  the  ancient  country  of  O’Cahan  crowds  of 
stalwart  mountaineers  came  hurrying  down,  eager  to  assist  at 
the  funeral  of  the  so-lately  forlorn  widow  of  their  chief.  Word 
had  been  sent  thither  by  Owen  Roe,  apprising  the  O’Cahans  of 
the  mournful  event,  and,  knowing  the  manner  of  their  aged 


246 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Mt 

lady’s  death,  they  approached  with  a wild  and  vengeful  cry, 
each  hearing  on  his  right  arm  some  band  of  a reddish  color,  the 
well-known  symbol  of  revenge. 

“ Peace  to  her  soul,”  they  cried,  “ the  white-handed  daughter 
of  Maguire,  Eveleen  of  the  silver  cords,  beloved  of  the  valiant 
O’Cahan  ! Welcome,  daughter  of  Brian  ! sorrowful  daughter  of 
princes!  Welcome  to  the  land  that  in  right  is  yours!”  and 
Judith  bowed  her  stately  head  in  token  of  her  thanks. 

There  is  not  on  Irish  ground  a scene  of  more  solemn  or  ro- 
mantic interest  than  the  old  Abbey  Church  of  Dungiven — seated 
on  a bold  projecting  rock  full  two  hundred  feet  above  the  beau- 
tiful Roe,  which  there  rushes  down  with  the  force  of  a cataract. 
“ Here  everything  disposes  to  seriousness  and  meditation  ; the 
grandeur  of  the  mountains,  the  ascending  sound  of  the  torrent 
beneath,  the  repose  of  the  place,  its  seclusion  from  little  things, 
and  the  awful  monuments  of  mortality  around  it — it  is  a scene 
which  contemplation  must  love,  and  devotion  may  claim  as  pe- 
culiarly her  own.”* 

Honor  to  the  memory  of  “ the  monks  of  old,”  whose  ad- 
mirable taste  selected  such  sites  for  religious  seclusion,  and  honor 
to  the  chiefs  who  established  and  maintained  them  there.j-  The 
splendor  of  Dungiven  Abbey  has  passed  away,  and  the  old  Augus- 
tinians  who  peopled  its  cloisters,  and  the  chieftains  who  wielded 
the  sword  in  their  defence,  lie  mingled  in  the  dust  of  the  tomb 
around  the  sacred  walls,  but  the  memories  of  both  are  cluster- 
ing like  shadows  amid  the  old  arches,  and  long  after  the  last 
vestiges  of  the  building  shall  have  passed  away,  their  faith  and 
their  piety,  and  their  munificent  charity  shall  continue  to  shed  a 
halo  round  the  beautiful  but  lonely  spot. 

To  this  old  Abbey  Church  it  was  that  the  remains  of  the  aged 
Lady  X)  Cahan  were  conveyed  on  that  bleak  wintry  day  amid  the 
spears  and  battle-axes  of  the  bold  clansmen  of  the  north,  and 
the  mournful  sound  of  the  pipes,  and  the  wailing  of  the  keencrs, 

Who  that  knows  aught  of  the  O’Cahans  has  not  heard  of 


* Rev.  Mr.  Ross’s  Statistical  Survey. 

+ The  Abbey  of  Dungiven  was  founded  for  Augustinian  monks,  about 
the  year  1100,  by  a chief  of  the  O’Cahans. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


24T 


Cooey-na-gall , the  greatest  that  ever  bore  that  name,  and  the 
terror  of  the  invader,  as  his  surname  implies  Well!  in  the 
chancel-wall  of  old  Dungiven  Church  there  is  a tomb  of  rare 
beauty,  a grand  old  Gothic  monument,  erected  by  his  clan  to  the 
memory  of  that  illustrious  chief,  and  there  it  was  that  Eveleeu 
Maguire,  the  destitute  widow  of  the  last  O’Cahan,  had  com- 
manded her  mortal  part  to  be  deposited.  It  was  a strange 
thought  of  the  old  woman,  but  her  daughter  and  the  chieftain 
who  carried  out  her  wish  were  at  no  loss  to  understand  it,  and 
so  they  laid  her  with  Donor  in  the  most  honored  grave  of  her 
adopted  people,  even  the  tomb  of  Cooey-na-g  11.  For  ages  long 
it  had  not  been  opened,  and  the  sis  grim  warriors  sculptured  on 
its  front  had  kept  watch  undisturbed  over  the  death  sleep  of 
the  chief.  Now  when  the  secrets  of  the  venerated  tomb  were 
again  laid  bare,  and  the  day-beam  penetrated  for  a few  brief 
moments  to  that  dark  recess  within  the  chancel-wall,  a strange 
feeling  of  awe  crept  over  the  beholders,  and  men  peered,  curious- 
ly yet  fearfully,  too,  over  each  other’s  shoulders,  hoping  to  catch 
a glimpse  of  the  bones  of  the  renowned  hero.  Owen  Koe  and 
Sir  Phelim  stood  in  front,  and  by  an  involuntary  impulse  the 
former  sank  on  his  knee  the  moment  the  tomb  wras  laid  open. 
All  present  followed  his  example,  and  his  fervent  ejaculation  of 
“ Peace  to  the  honored  dead  !”  was  responded  to  by  the  multi- 
tude in  an  “ Amen,”  like  the  voice  of  the  torrent  beneath. 

At  this  moment  an  old,  gray-haired  man  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  a cry  of  joy  escaped  the  O’Cahans. 

“ It  is  Father  Phelimy!  It  is  Father  Pheiimy — glory  be  to 
God,  he’s  just  in  time  !” 

The  old  man  approached  the  coffin  where  it  was  laid  in  front 
of  the  tomb  ready  to  be  lifted  in,  and  Judith,  when  she  saw  him, 

* Cooey , or  Cumaigke,  (in  English  Quintin)  na-gnll  O' C ah  an , the 
chieftain  above  referred  to,  was  so  named  on  account  of  his  valiaut 
exploits  against  the  early  English  invaders — the  words  Cooey-na-gall 
signifying  “the  greyhound  of  the  plain,  hunter  of  the  foreigner.” 
The  death  of  this  renowned  warrior  is  recorded  in  the  Annals  of  the 
Four  Masters  thus  : “ 1365.  Cumaighe  O’Kane,  Lord  of  Oireacht-na- 
Cathain,  died  at  the  pinnacle  of  wealth  and  celebrity,” 


248 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


arose  from  her  knees  beside  it,  and  extending  her  hand  to  him, 
burst  into  tears — they  were  tears  of  joy,  and  murmured,  “ Thanks 
be  to  God !” 

A blessing  was  on  the  old  man’s  lips*as  he  drew  from  an  inner 
pocket  a sadly  dilapidated  volume,  and  commenced  reciting  the 
burial-service  of  the  Church. 

“ I will  say  some  Masses  for  her  when  I can.”  he  whispered  to 
Judith  as  he  closed  the  book ; “ and  now,  my  children,  give  dust 
to  dust,  and  lay  Eveleen  * Maguire  in  that  tomb  which  no  man 
again  shall  open  from  this  day  ever.  ‘ Blessed  are  the  dead  who 
die  in  the  Lord,’  and,  furthermore,  ‘ Blessed  are  they  that  mourn 
for  they  shall  be  comforted,’  and  again,  ‘ Blessed  are  they  who 
suffer  persecution  for  justice’  sake,’  and  even  so  didst  thou,  widow 
of  Brian  O’Calian  ! Even  to  the  death  wert  thou  persecuted,  0 
woman  of  heavy  sorrows,  but  assuredly  great  is  thy  reward  in 
heaven,  yea,  even  the  reward  which  awaiteth  those  who  suffer 
and  are  sorrowful  for  Christ’s  dear  name  ! Requiescat  in  pace  ! 
daughter  and  wife  of  the  noble  ! well  hast  thou  chosen  thy 
resting-place  with  the  glory  of  my  hapless  race !” 

The  coffin  was  placed  within  the  tomb,  the  quaintly-carved 
stones  were  again  replaced,  no  sigh  or  sob  from  Judith  giving 
token  of  what  she  felt,  the  crowd  left  the  Church,  and  only  the 
two  chiefs,  the  old  priest,  and  the  bereaved  daughter  remained. 

“ Now,”  said  Judith,  drawing  herself  to  the  full  height  of  her 
tall  stature,  and  gathering  her  cloak  around  her  with  statue-like 
grace,  “ now  I am  alone  in  the  world,  I shall  henceforth  live  for 
my  country  and  my  creed ! — revenge  I name  not,  but  my  mo- 
ther’s murderers  are  also  my  country’s  tyrants — to  compass 
their  fall  shall  be  the  end  and  object  of  my  life!  Uncle  of  my 
father !”  addressing  the  priest,  for  the  present  I claim  an  asy- 
lum of  you !” 

“Alas!  poor  child,”  the  old  man  murmured  with  a heavy  sigh, . 
“ would  that  I had  a fitting  one  to  offer  thee  ! — thou  knowest  I 
am  myself  on  keeping  amongst  the  faithful  clansmen  of  oar 
house !” 

“ I know  it,  my  reverend  father,”  said  Judith  in  her  decided 
way,  “ but,  where  thou  findest  shelter,  I will  not  be  rejected, 
and  so  I say  unto  thee  as  Ruth  said  to  Noemi  in  the  days  of  old : 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


249 


* Whithersoever  thou  shalt  go,  I will  go,  and  where  thou  shalt 
dwell,  I also  will  dwell.’  God  sent  you  hither  when  least  I 
hoped  to  see  you,  and  your  presence  is  protection  for  the  lonely 
daughter  of  your  nephew  !’ 

“ Be  it  so,  then,”  said  the  aged  priest  with  a wan  smile,  and 
he  took  her  hand  within  his  own ; “ my  dwelling  is  on  the  hills 
amongst  4he  faithful  wood-kern,  but,  woe  is  me ! I know  that 
kind  of  life  is  nothing  new  to  thee.  Poor,  poor  child!”  he 
fondly  murmured,  “ hapless  daughter  of  princes ! — homeless, 
houseless  lady  of  the  land !” 

“ Thou  wilt  not  then  harbor  with  my  mother'?”  demanded  Sir 
Phelim,  in  a rougher  tone  even  than  his  wont,  for  the  heart  within 
him  was  softened  by  the  pitiful  scene,  and  he  would  fain  con- 
ceal his  emotion. 

Judith  shook  her  head,  and  the  knight  muttering  some  wrath- 
ful words  between  his  teeth,  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away. 

What  passed  between  the  three  thus  left  together  is  not  for 
us  to  tell ; suffice  it,  that  during  their  brief  colloquy,  things 
of  high  import  to  the  national  cause  were  treated  of,  and  it  may 
be  that  Judith  did  not  conceal  from  the  great  leader  the  plans 
which  she  had  formed  for  her  future  guidance,  for  when,  at 
length,  she  quitted  the  old  Church,  supporting  her  aged  relative 
rather  than  receiving  support  from  him,  Owen  O’Neill  murmured 
to  himself  as  he  stood  looking  after  their  retiring  figures  : 

“ There  be  more  in  that  maiden’s  head  than  some  of  our 
wisest  could  fathom — I would  we  had  a score  or  so  of  men  with 
heart  and  brain  like  hers  to  head  our  columns  !” 

He  turned  to  take  a parting  look  at  the  tomb  which  nowr  con- 
tained his  staunch  old  friend,  and  as  the  tumultuous  cheers  which 
greeted  the  appearance  of  J udith  and  the  priest  fell  on  his  ear 
from  without,  he  sighed  as  his  eye  rested  on  the  stony  figure  of 
Cooey-na-gall  lying  so  still  and  motionless  on  the  tomb  where  it 
had  lain  for  centuries  ; he  thought  of  the  mouldering  bones  he 
had  seen  within,  and  he  said  in  a half  audible  voice  : 

“ Such  is  earthly  glory ! — great  wert  thou  in  thy  generation, 
oh ! warrior  of  the  hills,  O’Cahan  of  many  steeds  ! but  what  art 
thou  now — what  remaineth  of  all  thy  glory  1 Alas  ! alas  ! sic 
transit  gloria  mundi! ” 


250 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


His  brief  soliloquy  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a wild  and 
vengeful  cry  from  without  the  churchyard  where  Sir  Phelim  and 
those  of  the  Kinel-Owen  awaited  his  coming.  Hastening  to  see 
what  the  matter  was,  Owen  found  Donogh  and  a small  party  of 
his  Rapparees  newly  arrived,  their  smoking  steeds  showing  how 
hard  they  had  ridden.  Sir  Phelim  stood  with  his  hand  on  the 
neck  of  Donogh’s  horse,  looking  eagerly  up  in  the  young  man’s 
face,  while  as  near  as  the  presence  of  that  dreaded  chief  permit- 
ted, crowded  the  clansmen  around — listening  to  the  news  the 
Rapparees  brought.  And  little  wonder  that  their  faces  grew 
dark  as  they  listened,  and  that  Phelim’s  broad  chest  heaved 
tumultuously,  for  Owen  himself,  with  all  his  long-practised  self- 
control  could  scarcely  repress  his  indignation. 

The  tale,  wrhen  told  over  for  the  general’s  ear,  gave  another 
pretty  picture  of  Scottish  treachery,  only  less  revolting  in  its 
way,  than  the  massacre  of  Island  Magee. 

Leaving  Donogh  to  tell  the  tale  in  his  own  way,  we  may  as 
well  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  what  had  taken  place. 

At  the  extreme  northern  point  of  the  Irish  coast  on  an  insular 
rock,  separated  from  the  mainland  by  a yawning  chasm,  through 
which  the  ocean  wave  dashes  with  fearful  violence,  stood  the 
ancient  Castle  of  Dunluce,  at  the  time  of  w’hich  we  write,  owned 
by  the  Marquis  of  Antrim,  a Catholic  nobleman,  wTho  had  mar- 
ried a short  time  before  the  widow  of  the  notorious  Villiers, 
Duke  of  Buckingham.  This  Marquis  of  Antrim,  Randal  McDon- 
nell by  name,  being  a Catholic,  and  somewhat  of  a favorite 
with  Ring  Charles,  wras  an  object  of  dislike  and  suspicion 
to  the  Lords  Justices  and  the  Puritan  leaders  in  Ireland,  but 
Randal  had  hitherto  given  them  no  Dandle  for  compassing  his 
ruin,  living  quietly  at  home  in  his  castle  on  the  rot^s  well  con- 
tent, it  would  seem,  to  let  others  alone  if  they  let  him  alone. 
He  was  himself  what  is  called  a pleasant  fellow,  his  wife  a right 
merry  and  witty  dame,  and  being  such  they  generally  contrived 
to  have  a pleasant  company  gathered  about  them.  Their  house- 
hold was,  accordingly,  a gay  and  racketing  one,  and  in  a round 
of  amusement  passed  the  days  and  the  nights  cheerily  over  the 
inmates  of  Dunluce  Castle.  The  echo  of  the  strife  raging 
through  the  island  was  spent  before  it  reached  that  wild  north- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


251 


ern  shore,  and  to  the  shame  of  Randal  McDonnell  he  it  said, 
he  gave  himself  little  concern  as  to  which  of  the  contending 
parties  had  the  best  of  it  so  long  as  he  and  his  were  free  to 
“ eat,  drink,  and  be  merry”  in  far  Dunluce. 

It  happened  on  a day  that  Monroe  the  Scottish  general  sent 
word  to  the  Marquis  of  Antrim,  “ whose  loyalty,”  he  said,  “ stood 
well  approved,”  that  having  been  scouring  the  neighborhood  for 
some  days  in  search  of  the  rebels,  the  which  had  cunningly 
evaded  his  pursuit,  so  that  he  could  not  by  any  means  come  upon 
them,  he  would,  with  the  noble  lord’s  permission,  stop  for 
refreshment  at  his  Castle  of  Dunluce,  nothing  fearing  of  treach- 
ery from  a nobleman  so  highly  esteemed  for  loyalty  and  all  good 
behavior  as  my  lord  of  Antrim. 

Well  pleased  was  “ my  lord  of  Antrim”  and  his  gay  Dowager 
Duchess  by  this  distinguished  compliment,  and  to  work  they 
went  with  right  good  will  to  make  all  things  agreeable  to  the 
Scotch  general  and  his  officers  during  their  stay,  and  provide 
them  with  suitable  entertainment. 

The  numerous  retainers  of  the  Marquis  were  drawn  up  in 
imposing  array  in  the  courtyard  to  receive  the  military  visitors, 
and  it  may  be  that  the  smiling  host  began  to  feel  somewhat  un- 
comfortable to  see  that  the  latter  far  outnumbered  his  own  peo- 
ple, and  were  altogether  as  grim-looking  a set  as  ever  his  eyes 
looked  on.  As  he  stood  observing  them  while  they  crossed  the 
narrow  drawbridge  two  and  two,  he  wished  in  his  heart  that  he 
had  manfully  declined  receiving  Monroe’s  visit,  but  the  wish 
came  all  too  late  if  danger  was  really  to  be  apprehended,  which 
as  yet  Randal  was  slow  to  believe. 

The  fears  and  misgivings  were  of  short  duration  when  once 
the  light-hearted  Marquis  entered  upon  his  duties  as  a host, 
and,  to  all  appearance,  his  cordial  welcome  was  duly  appreciated 
t y his  guests.  The  banquet  was  spread,  and  ample  justice 
done  to  the  good  things  prepared,  and  even  the  black-visaged 
Puritans  seemed  to  have  lost  somewhat  of  their  gloomy  morose- 
ness in  the  genial  influence  of  the  hour,  when,  all  at  once, 
Monroe  stood  up  and  slapped  one  hand  against  the  other  with 
a sound  that  rang  through  the  large  hall.  His  men  were  on 
their  feet  in  an  instant. 


252 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Arrest  that  man  and  all  his  houseliould  !”  said  Monroe  point- 
ing to  the  Marquis,  and  notwithstanding  threats,  promises,  and 
persuasions,  it  was  done  instantaneously.  Within  an  hour  the 
Marquis  and  his  family  were  sent  prisoners  to  Carrickfergus,  and 
the  castle  rifled  by  the  Puritan  soldiers  was  immediately  taken 
possession  of  for  a garrison. 

Monroe  never  laughed,  but  the  capture  of  McDonnel  and  his 
impregnable  Castle  was  ever  after  related  in  his  grave  style  as  a 
capital  joke,  and  one  of  the  most  notable  acts  of  his  life. 

Such  was  the  tale  told  by  Donogh,  who  had  been  up  in  those 
parts,  as  he  said  himself,  “on  a little  business  of  his  own.”  The 
effect  of  the  narrative  on  the  hearers  may  easily  be  conceived, 
coupled  with  the  brutal  murder  which  had  so  lately  convulsed 
the  country  with  rage  and  horror. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


253 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

“ And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wide  wreaths  the  battle-shrcud, 

And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall, 

Like  sheets  of  flame  in  midnight  pall.” 

Drake 

“ True  fortitude  is  seen  in  great  exploits 
That  justice  warrants,  and  that  wisdom  guides; 

All  else  is  towering  frenzy  and  distraction.” 

Addison’s  Cato . 

After  the  stirring  events  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  it  was 
confidently  expected  that  General  O’Neill  would  gather  his  forces 
together,  and,  availing  himself  of  the  popular  excitement,  make 
one  grand  effort  to  clear  the  province  of  the  hated  Scotch 
marauders,  who  were  preying  on  its  very  vitals.  But,  to  the 
surprise,  and,  indeed,  disappointment  of  all,  he  quietly  went  on 
mustering  and  drilling  and  exercising  his  battalions,  with  the 
aid  of  the  officers  who  had  accompanied  him  from  Flanders.  In 
vain  did  Sir  Phelim  storm  and  rage,  and  pitch  the  “ drilling”  to 

the  d 1,  as  he  did  full  fifty  times  a day — in  vain  did  the 

chieftains  of  Breffny  and  Uriel,  and  the  young  Tanist  of  Fer- 
managh, urge  him  to  more  active  measures,  alleging  that  if  they 
were  gathering  strength  by  delay,  so  also  were  the  Puritans. 
Owen  was  still  immovable,  close  and  dark  with  regard  to  his 
own  views,  yet  not  unwilling  to  hear  what  others  had  to  say. 
And  yet  the  news  from  the  other  provinces  was  of  the  most 
stirring  kind  ; skirmishing  was  going  on  in  every  quarter,  with 
varying  success,  but  on  the  whole  the  Confederate  armies  were 
gaining  on  their  adversaries.  In  Connaught,  Sir  John  Burke 
had  striven  so  successfully  since  his  appointment  that,  in  the 
face  of  Clanrickarde’s  covert  opposition,  and  the  utmost  exer- 


254 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tions  of  the  whole  government  party,  he  had  reduced  the  Lord 
President  Ranelagh,  with  Coote  and  some  other  generals,  to  fly 
the  province,  and  make  for  the  capital  in  search  of  the  supplies 
wherewith  the  dilatory  Lords  Justices  had  failed  to  provide  them 
in  time.  Preston  in  Leinster  had  taken  the  strong  town  of 
Birr,  not  to  speak  of  lesser  conquests,  while  Barry  in  Munster 
had  driven  Inchiquin  to  take  refuge  with  his  forces,  and  what 
provisions  they  could  secure  on  the  way,  within  the  walls  of 
Cork,  Kinsale  and  Youghal.  Lord  Broghill,  too,  was  shut  up 
with  a small  force  in  Cappoquin,  so  that  the  affairs  of  the  enemy 
seemed  in  a desperate  condition  in  the  three  provinces.  Why 
was  it,  then,  that  Ulster  alone  was  backward,  and,  to  all  appear- 
ance, inactive,  when  such  a golden  opportunity  seemed  to  present 
itself  1 

“ Why  is  it,  I ask  you  again  1”  said  Sir  Phelim,  angrily  strik- 
ing the  table  around  which  Owen  had  gathered  a few  of  the 
chiefs  in  Charlemont  Castle. 

“ Because,”  said  Owen,  speaking  somewhat  more  freely  than 
was  his  wont,  “ because  Ulster  hath  suffered  overmuch  already 
from  rash,  ill-considered  measures.  Ay ! even  to  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  sister  provinces,  for  the  great  flourish  made 
at  the  start,  and  the  little  wool  gathered  after  so  much  noise. 
When  the  Ulster  army  takes  the  field  again,  I would  have  it  such 
as  to  turn  the  scale  of  victory.  I mean  to  give  it  the  title  of  the 
Catholic  army,  the  which,  being  a proud  distinction,  must  needs 
be  proudly  sustained.  Let  our  good  friends  in  the  upper  pro- 
vinces stand  their  ground  a little  longer,  as  it  seems  they  are 
well  able  to  do,  and  when  we  come  to  their  succor  we  can  deal 
the  enemy  such  a blow  as  he  may  not  recover !” 

Some  of  the  chieftains  present  were  convinced  by  Owen’s 
reasoning,  marvelling  the  while  at  his  consummate  coolness, 
but  Sir  Phelim  was  only  the  more  incensed,  and  could  hardly 
keep  from  expressing  his  contempt. 

“ Truly,”  said  he  with  much  bitterness,  “ the  Lady  Judith  hath 
cause  to  be  proud  of  her  champion — an’  she  had  taken  me  for 
her  liege-man,  her  mother’s  murder  were  bloodily  avenged  be- 
fore now.  If  O’Cahan’s  blood  be  in  her  veins  she  will  spurn 
you  like  a dog.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


255 


“ Have  a care  what  you  say,  Phelim,”  said  Owen  hastily ; 

“ you  may  stretch  endurance  so  far  that  even  I may  have  patience 
no  longer.  As  for  the  lady  on  whom  your  tongue  doth  run  so 
glibly,  I am  well  assured  that  she  hath  more  understanding  of 
this  matter  than  you,  and  albeit  that  I am  not  * the  liege-man’ 
of  any  woman  breathing,  I respect  her  too  much  to  hear  her 
name  bandied  at  will — even  by  my  valorous  cousin.  I pray  you, 
therefore,  to  discourse  in  such  wise  as  becometh  a soldier,  with- 
out dragging  in  names  or  things  foreign  to  our  subject.’’ 

“ Ho  ! ho  !”  laughed  the  incorrigible  knight ; “ I warrant  me, 
you  will  hear  more  of  it  than  you  relish  from  the  respected  lady 
herself.’’ 

Owen  thought  of  the  Church  of  Dungiven  and  Judith’s  mas- 
terly counsel,  and  he  smiled.  His  smile  was  gall  and  wormwood 
to  Phelim,  and  he  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  almost  showed.  The 
fierce  sarcasm  hovering  on  his  lip  was  choked  in  its  birth  by  the 
arrival  of  a courier  with  dispatches  for  the  general  from  Sir  J ohn 
Netterville. 

With  eager  haste  Owen  broke  the  seal  and  read,  the  others 
watching  his  countenance  with  painful  anxiety.  He  had  not 
read  far  when  his  brow  darkened  and  his  ruddy  cheek  grew 
pale. 

“ 111  news,  my  friends,”  he  said,  looking  up  with  a troubled 
expression,  “ Preston  hath  encountered  a heavy  mishap.” 

“ How  'l — where  'l — when  V’  cried  the  listeners  all  in  a breath. 

“At  Rathconnell,  in  the  county  of  Westmeath.  As  ill  luck 
would  have  it,  he  met  Ranelagh  and  Coote  on  their  retreat  to 
Dublin,  and  must  needs  have  a tilt  with  them,  after  the  manner 
of  your  fighting  cocks” — and  he  glanced  maliciously  at  Phelim — 
“ I thought  Preston  was  over  fond  of  making  a stir,  the  which 
hath  cost  bim  full  dear  on  this  last  occasion,  for  the  Puritans 
with  a much  smaller  force  cut  their  wray  through  his  army 
drawn  up  to  bar  their  progress — that  comes,  Sir  Phelim,  of  over 
combativeness ” 

“ Said  you  Rathconnell  was  the  placq/1”  inquired  O’Reilly  of 
Breffny  in  an  agitated  voice. 

“ Ay,  surely !”  said  Owen,  referring  again  to  the  document  in 
his  hand,  “ but  what  of  that,  friend  Philip  V' 


256 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


At  first  the  chieftain  declined  answering,  and  would  fain  have 
laughed  the  matter  off,  but  curiosity  once  aroused  was  not  so 
easily  allayed,  and  there  was  no  evading  the  keen  scrutiny  of 
Owen’s  eye. 

“ Were  Malachy  na  Soggarth  here,”  said  the  Breffny  chief, 
ye  would,  doubtless,  have  known  before  this.  My  knowledge 
of  the  prophecies  is  but  small,  compared  with  Malachy’s,  yet 
unluckily  I have  heard  from  my  childhood  that  a great  battle 
was  to  be  fought  at  Rathconnell ” 

“ And  what  further  sayeth  the  prophecy 

“ It  sayeth,  General  O’Neill,”  said  O’Reilly  slowly  and  with 
emphasis,  “ that  whichever  party  wins  that  battle  wins  all 
Ireland !” 

A scornful  laugh  burst  from  Phelim  O’Neill ; McMahon  cried 
“ pooh ! pooh !”  and  Roderick  Maguire  shook  back  his  long 
tresses  with  a smile  of  disdain.  Not  so  Owen  Roe,  between 
whom  and  O’Reilly  uneasy  glances  were  exchanged,  and  not- 
withstanding their  evident  desire  to  appear  unconcerned,  neither 
could  entirely  succeed.  Although  Owen  O’Neill  was  the  last 
man  to  be  influenced  by  superstition,  this,  he  conceived,  was 
far  removed  from  superstition.  The  gift  of  prophecy  had 
never  been  entirely  withdrawn  from  the  faithful ; one  portion 
of  this  prediction  was  already  fulfilled,  might  not  the  other  be 
fatally  true'?  “God  in  Heaven  forefend!”  murmured  Owen  to 
himself,  and  then  with  a significant  glance  at  O’Reilly,  he  forced 
a laugh  and  affected  to  make  light  of  the  prophecy  as  an  old 
wife’s  tale. 

But  little  recked  Preston  and  his  bold  Leinstermen  for  what 
they  considered  a trifling  defeat.  For  every  loss  they  sustained 
they  gained  half  a dozen  minor  advantages,  which,  taken 
together,  were  rapidly  giving  them  possession  of  the  Province. 
Lord  Castlehaven  was  rendering  effective  aid,  chiefly  to  Preston, 
and  some  of  the  most  chivalrous  deeds  of  that  tedious  war 
were  achieved  by  that  gallant  nobleman. 

Whilst  the  Puritans,  according  to  their  custom,  were -butcher- 
ing without  mercy  such  as  fell  into  their  hands,  without  distinc- 
tion of  age,  sex,  or  rank,  it  was  the  proud  distinction  of  the 
Catholic  leaders  that  they  showed  mercy  to  hundreds  of  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


257 


feeble  and  defenceless  in  every  part  of  tlie  country.  About  the 
same  time  that  Stewart’s  marauders  were  perpetrating  such  atro- 
cities in  Ulster,  Lord  Castlehaven  wras  escorting  “ a number 
of  men  and  women  of  quality,”  whom  he  found  cooped  up  “ in 
a great  room”  in  Birr  (when  General  Preston  took  that  strong 
town)  to  the  friendly  garrison  of  Athy.  When  the  Catholic 
troops  took  possession  of  the  town,  this  numerous  company  of 
the  chief  persons  flocked  together  for  shelter,  naturally  fearing 
the  dread  retaliation  of  the  Irish  for  the  horrible  cruelties  exer- 
cised upon  them  by  the  Puritan  generals,  and  when  Lord  Cas- 
tlehaven made  his  appearance  they  fell  on  their  knees  and 
besought  him  with  piteous  cries  to  save  their  lives.  With  the 
spirit  of  a Catholic  soldier  he  complied,  and  obtaining  his  gen- 
eral’s consent  to  take  command  of  the  convoy,  he  took  with  him 
a strong  force,*  and  conducted  them  in  safety  to  their  friends 
at  Athy  after  a toilsome  march  of  two  or  three  days  through 
woods  and  bogs. 

Again  at  Ballenakill,  a strong  castle  taken  by  Preston,  after 
much  hard  fighting,  the  garrison,  having  at  length  surrendered, 
was  conveyed  to  a place  of  safety  by  the  same  nobleman.  Such 
chivalrous  acts  as  these  are  amongst  our  proudest  recollections 
of  that  disastrous  time,  and  as  Owen  Boe  told  them  over  for  Sir 
Phelim’s  special  benefit,  his  cheek  glowed  and  his  eye  glistened, 
and  he  said : 

“ That  is  what  I call  Christian  warfare,  becoming  knights  and 
gentlemen ’ ’ 

“ Thou  shalt  do  no  murder,”  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  inter- 
rupted Phelim  with  unusual  solemnity,  “ to  the  which  I would 
add  as  regard eth  these  canting  varlets,  if  thou  dost  thou  shalt 
surely  suffer,  for  as  God  liveth  we  will  show  you  no  mercy  an’ 
you  show  us  none.  That  black-livered  crew  will  thank  you  none 
the  more  for  fair  dealing,  and  take  my  word  for  it,  neither  you 
nor  Castlehaven  would  fare  any  better  in  their  hands  than  the 
monster  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  who  giveth  them  as  good  as  they 

* Lord  Castlehaven  tells  us  in  his  Memoirs  that  the  number  of  peo- 
ple whom  he  thus  conveyed  to  Athy  was  about  800,  amongst  whom 
were  many  “ men  and  women  of  quality.” 


258 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


bring,  and  lashes  them  like  hounds  when  he  gets  his  hands  on 
them !” 

Owen  smiled  and  shook  his  head  but  said  no  more.  He  had 
little  time  to  waste  in  idle  conversation,  for  there  was  hardly  a 
day  but  detachments  from  some  of  the  enemy’s  quarters  weie 
making  foraging  excursions  into  the  country  of  Tyr-Owen  or  the 
adjacent  county  of  Armagh.  Many  of  these  freebooting  parties 
were  met  and  defeated  by  his  people  led  on  by  their  respective 
chiefs,  but  still  the  evil  increased  and  became  intolerable,  so  that 
with  any  other  general  but  Owen  Roe,  in  whose  wisdom  they 
had  unbounded  confidence,  the  tribes  of  Ulster  would  have  risen 
in  a body  to  drive  out  the  foreigners  as  they  did  once  before. 
As  it  was,  it  required  all  Owen’s  powers  of  persuasion  to  keep 
them  quiet  under  such  provocation,  and  his  most  effective  argu- 
ment was  that  the  day  was  rapidly  approaching  when  his  army 
could  take  the  field,  and  then  it  would  be  his  turn  to  clear  the 
province,  once,  he  trusted,  and  for  all.  And  then  the  prepara- 
tions he  was  seen  making — the  rare  and  novel  training  he  was 
giving  to  his  soldiers,  teaching  them  such  warlike  exercises  and 
manoeuvres  as  made  the  simple  clansmen  stare.  It  was  the  great- 
est sight  their  eyes  had  seen,  the  squares  and  columns  of  Owen 
Roe’s  army,  the  marching  and  countermarching,  and  the  skilful 
handling  of  weapons  new  to  the  northern  clans.  Under  the 
teaching  of  such  a master  as  Owen  Roe,  the  warlike  followers  of 
the  Ulster  chiefs  rapidly  acquired  the  discipline  they  had  never 
known  before,  and  learned  to  unite  their  strength  for  a common 
effort. 

At  length  Owen  began  to  feel  satisfied  with  the  proficiency  of 
his  troops  and  a change  was  gradually  perceptible  in  his  tactics. 
As  a preliminary  step  he  cleared  the  country  of  cattle  and  other 
provisions  that  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  sending 
the  inhabitants  back  into  the  woods  and  mountains  with  a fair 
share  for  their  sustenance.  This  was  a capital  stroke  of  policy, 
for  the  enemy  were  thereby  reduced  to  the  greatest  straits  in 
their  garrison  towns  and  in  the  wild  border  districts  to  which  they 
had  latterly  retired  for  the  convenience  of  making  incursions. 

The  long  winter  had  passed  away  in  these  preliminary  opera- 
tions, and  the  wise  policy  pursued  by  O’Neill  was  manifest  in  its 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


259 


results.  Monroe  and  Stewart  were  driven  to  the  utmost  extre- 
mity for  want  of  provisions,  and  menaced  by  the  presence  of 
O’Neill’s  army,  remained  cooped  up,  as  it  were,  in  the  more 
northern  parts  of  the  province,  while  all  the  central  portions  were 
occupied  by  the  Catholic  forces  on,  on  to  the  borders  of  the 
Pale — where  Preston  and  Castlehaven  were  masters  of  all  the 
principal  strongholds. 

Things  were  at  such  a pass  when,  one  bright  May  day,  Owen 
Roe,  with  some  of  his  staff  and  a score  or  so  of  his  followers,  was 
out  hunting,  providing  for  the  hospitable  board  at  Charlemont 
while  indulging  in  his  favorite  amusement.  He  chanced  to  be  on 
the  Charlemont  side  of  the  river,  and  at  no  great  distance  from 
the  castle,  when  all  at  once  the  weil  known  signal  cry  of  the 
Rapparees  was  heard  loud,  wild  and  impatient.  The  general 
suddenly  pulled  in  his  horse,  saying,  “ Friends,  the  Rapparees 
are  abroad — what  meaneth  that  cry  V’  Eagerly  his  eye  scanned 
the  horizon  but  nothing  unusual  was  to  be  seen. 

Again  the  cry  rang  out  over  hill  and  valley : “ The  Albinachs 
are  on  you ! — fly  !” 

“ Great  God  I”  said  the  general,  “ that  is  Donogh’s  voice — 
where  can  the  enemy  be  1 — ha ! yonder  they  come ! — Saints  of 
Heaven  ! they  are  in  force,  too — mark  *y<m  forest  of  spears  !” 
And  he  pointed  to  a gleaming,  glittering  line  too  clearly  visible 
between  him  and  the  horizon.  “ Haste  ye,  friends ! haste  ye  for 
liberty’s  dear  sake !” 

“ I’  faith  we  have  much  need,  general !”  cried  a dashing  young 
captain,  Con  Oge  O’Neill  by  name,  who  was  one  of  his  kinsman’s 
aid-de-camps ; “ that  is  a host — we  are  scarce  a handful ! — pity 
’tis  to  fly,  but  fly  we  must  an’  we  would  do  aught  to  leave  a 
name  behind  us  !”  And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he  leaped 
his  steed  over  a quick-set  hedge  and  made  off  at  a gallop  for  the 
castle. 

All  the  party  followed  his  example,  and  the  towers  of  Charle- 
mont were  already  in  sight  when  a troop  of  Monroe’s  light  ca- 
valry, detached  for  the  .purpose  of  pursuit,  gained  upon  them, 
and  came  cantering  up  behind. 

“Ride  for  your  lives,  men!”  cried  Owen  Roe;  “yonder  is 
Safety,”  pointing  to  the  still  distant  walls.  “ Our  lives  are  worth 


260 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


something  to  the  cause ! On  ! on  ! on  !”  and  on  they  all  dashed 
with  lightning  speed. 

But  vain  their  speed — behind  them  fast  and  near  came  the 
Scots  urged  on  by  Monroe  himself,  who  in  person  brought  up  the 
rear. 

Near  and  nearer  came  the  foe,  and,  for  some  time,  fast  and 
faster  flew  on  the  O’Neills — on  and  on  over  hedge,  ditch,  moss, 
and  moor  sped  the  chase,  the  pursued  having  much  the  advan- 
tage in  leading  the  enemy  such  a dance  as  they  pleased — a few 
hundred  yards  would  have  brought  them  to  the  castle,  when, 
all  at  once,  the  thought  flashed  on  Owen’s  mind,  “ an’  they 
reach  the  castle  so  close  at  our  heels,  Charlemont  is  lost — now 
God  direct  me  for  the  best !” 

A narrow  lane  or  boreen  lay  right  before  him,  fenced  in  on 
either  side  by  a close  hawthorn  hedge,  and  as  Owen’s  practised 
eye  glanced  along  it,  he  suddenly  called  to  his  companions  to 
halt: 

“ We  will  give  them  battle,”  said  he,  “ in  God’s  name,  when 
we  get  them  once  fairly  wedged — so  stand  your  ground,  my 
men  ! an’  you  would  save  Charlemont !” 

“ God  bless  you  for  the  word,  general,”  said  Con  Oge  as  he 
reined  back  his  prancing  steed  abreast  with  Owen’s ; “they’d 
be  into  the  gates,  the  born  devils,  neck  and  heels  with  ourselves, 
and  by  St.  Columb!  that  must  not  be!  But,  holy  Saints!  ge- 
neral ! fly  you — your  loss  would  be  worse  than  fifty  Charlemonts 
— we’ll  keep  them  here,  at  any  rate,  till  you’re  safe  housed ! — 
oh  God ! fly — here  they  are !”  And  seizing  the  general’s  horse 
he  would  have  backed  him  out  through  the  little  band,  but 
Owen  commanded  him  sternly  to  desist. 

“ It  is  too  late,”  said  he,  “ and  were  it  not,  I would  e’en  stay ! 
— there,  Con  ! there — defend  yourself — boys  ! stand  fast  toge- 
ther— if  one  fall,  let  another  take  his  place — they  cannot  pass, 
an’  you  keep  close  ! — «ow — now,  for  God  and  country !” 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  Monroe  and  Monroe’s  troopers  when 
they  saw  such  a handful  ef  men  form  in  order  of  battle  thinking 
to  obstruct  their  way,  and  if  Puritans  ever  could  laugh  they 
would  have  laughed  then.  Unluckily,  they  found  it  no  fun 
when  once  they  came  to  blows,  for,  blocked  up  as  they  were  on 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


261 


either  side,  their  numbers  were  of  no  use  to  them,  the  front 
ranks  only  being  able  to  act.  The  conflict  was  fierce  and  yet 
tedious — many  hard  blows  were  exchanged,  and  some  five  or 
six  of  the  Scots  fell  beneath  the  stalwart  arms  of  the  O’Neills. 
All  at  once  Monroe,  still  in  the  rear,  thought  of  detaching  a 
portion  of  his  troop  for  the  purpose  of  making  a circuit  through 
the  fields  to  take  the  little  band  in  the  rear.  He  succeeded, 
but  hardly  had  they  made  their  way  into  the  adjacent  field, 
when  a cry  of  “ Death  to  the  Scots ! — Island  Magee!”  was  heard 
—then  the  sounds  of  fight — cries  and  imprecations  from  Mon- 
roe’s men — shouts  of  vengeance  from  their  assailants,  and  thus 
the  conflict  raged  on  both  sides  of  the  fence.  Owen  Roe  and 
his  little  band  knew  that  the  Rapparees  had  come  to  their  aid, 
but  see  they  could  not  what  was  going  on  so  near,  for  their  own 
lives  were  in  imminent  peril,  and  it  required  a superhuman  effort 
to  keep  the  enemy  at  bay.  Every  sense  was  strained  to' the 
utmost,  for  skill  and  attention  were  more  needed  even  than 
strength,  in  order  to  parry  the  deadly  thrusts  of  swords  and 
bayonets.  Still  in  the  van  fought  Owen  Roe,  and  still  by  his 
side  was  Con  Oge,  while  their  brave  companions  pressed  close 
behind,  and  by  God’s  great  mercy,  not  one  of  the  devoted  band 
had  fallen — no  sound  escaped  from  any  of  them,  while  the  Scots 
cursed,  and  reviled,  and  threatened  at  every  blow.  Long,  long 
did  the  unequal  conquest  last — the  sounds  of  fight  died  away 
behind  the  hedge,  and  nought  but  groans  were  heard  breaking 
drearily  on  the  din  of  battle  in  the  lane.  Suddenly  the  trum- 
pets sounded  on  Chari emont  walls,  and  Owen  and  his  followers 
thanked  God,  for  their  strength  was  beginning  to  fail.  At  the 
same  moment  a clattering  of  horses’  hoofs  was  heard  in  the  field 
beyond  the  scene  of  the  late  conflict,  and  Monroe’s  shrill  voice 
rose  high  above  the  tumult : 

“ Come  awa’  frae  awheen  rebels !” 

Those  in  front  were  not  slow  in  obeying,  for  the  brunt  of  that 
battle  was  more  than  they  could  well  bear,  and  the  sight  of 
their  dead  comrades  down  amongst  the  horses’  feet  was  not  at 
all  to  their  liking,  nor  yet  calculated  to  steady  their  hands — a 
backward  movement  was  quickly  perceptible  amongst  them, 
and  Owen  Roe  had  no  mind  to  stop  their  retreat,  but  Con  Oge, 


262 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


with  the  mercurial  recklessness  of  a young  soldier,  called  out 
after  them  as  they  backed  their  horses  down  the  lane : 

“ What  the  d 1,  Monroe ! will  you  leave  Owen  behind  you*? 

Here  he  is — can  you  not  take  him'?” 

“We’ll  liae  him  yet!”  said  the  grim  veteran  officer  who  had 
kept  the  front  all  through  the  fray ; “ we’ll  hae  him  yet,  laddie ! 
where  the  lonan  winna  save  him — an’  maybe  your  ainsel  to 
boot !” 

“ There’s  luck  in  leisure,  comrade — you’ll  take  your  time, 
will  you  not  V ’ laughed  Con  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  Scot 
looking  back  shook  his  fist  at  him  as  they  rode  each  his  way, 
Monroe  still  calling  on  his  men  to  ride  faster,  faster,  to  rejoin 
the  army,  whose  banners  and  glittering  arms  made  a formidable 
show  in  the  distance.* 

Owen  Roe,  with  his  wonted  coolness,  chided  Con  for  thus 
bandying  words  with  an  enemy,  whose  unaccountable  retreat 
was  a rare  God-send,  deliberately  wiping  his  sword  as  he  talked, 
riding  the  while  at  full  speed  towards  the  castle,  as  though  to 
show  his  equestrian  skill.  All  at  once,  at  a turn  of  the  broad 
road  on  which  the  party  were  now  earacolling,  a strange  and 
ghastly  sight  presented  itself,  and  Owen  Roe  himself,  stout  as 
his  heart  wras,  quailed  before  it.  Some  fifteen  or  twenty  of  the 
Rapparees  were  there,  mounted  as  usual  on  good  horses,  (pressed 
into  the  service,)  but  without  saddle  or  bridle,  either,  other  than 
a hempen  rope,  which  they  made  to  serve  the  purpose.  Wilder 
and  more  haggard  even  than  their  wont,  and  scantily  covered 
from  the  winter’s  cold,  with  matted  locks  and  thin,  wasted  fea- 
tures, their  eyes  withal  burning  like  living  coals,  and  the  pikes 
they  carried  crimson  with  gore.  Donogh,  himself,  rode  first, 
but  little  better  equipped  than  the  others,  and  his  usually  mild 
face  wearing  a ferocious  expression,  while  ever  and  anon  he 
shook  at  arm’s  length  a piece  of  cloth  dabbled  in  blood,  and 
laughed  with  maniac  glee,  and  his  comrades  chorused  his 
hideous  mirth. 

“ See  there,  general !”  cried  the  excited  young  leader,  and  he 

* This  poor  attempt  and  pusillanimous  retreat  of  Monroe  are  strictly 
historical. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


263 


shook  the  bloody  rag  closer  to  O’Neill’s  face  than  was  at  all 
pleasing  ; “ see,  there,  Owen  na  lamh  dearg  ! we  came  to  help 
you , and  it’s  we  that  helped  ourselves  finely  ! Ha  ! ha ! ha ! do 
you  know  what  that  is  1 — do  you  know  1" 

Owen  shook  his  head,  and  he  shuddered,  too — the  other  went 
on  : “You  have  seen  it  before,  for  all  that — you  remember  that 
night  in  the  Brantree — ay  ! I see  you  do — well ! here  it  is  again 
for  you,  the  pretty  ornament  I have  worn  on  my  arm  for  so 
many  weary  months — I promised  to  wear  it  till  the  blood  that 
was  on  it  would  be  washed  out  in  the  heart’s  blood  of  the  mur- 
derer— and — and — ha ! ha  ! ha  ! that’s  what  I’m  after  doing 
now — do  you  hear  me,  general  1 — the  strip  may  go  to  the  flames 
now,  for,  by  the  right  arm  that  did  that  deed  of  justice,  it  was 

well  soaked. and  washed  in  that  same  muddy  puddle — ” 

“ Then  you  chanced  on  your  mother’s  murderer  in  that  field 
beyond 

“ Chanced  ! ay,  faith,  that  did  I — I knew  him  by  the  marks 
and  tokens  I had  in  my  mind  ever  since  that  bloody  night — but 
that  wasn’t  all,  general ! that  wasn’t  all — we  settled  with  Lindsay, 
too ” 

“ Lindsay  ! who  is  he  1” 

“ Ha ! I thought  you  knew — Lamh  dearg  aboo  ! there  they 
come !”  meaning  the  troop  of  cavalry  now  cantering  across  the 
plain  from  the  draw-bridge  of  the  castle.  “Why,  Lindsay — 
Lindsay  was — it’s  too  long  to  tell,  general ! but  we  of  Island 
Magee  had  a crow  to  pluck  with  him,  and— we  plucked  it — • 
that’s  all — sure  they  had  made  an  officer  of  him,  the  hang-dog 
villain — they  had — and  it’s  him  was  at  the  head  of  the  • party 
Monroe  sent  round  to  steal  a march  on  you — there  was  twenty 
or  thereabouts,  General  O’Neill  ! and  would  you  guess  how 
many  went  back  alive  ? — just  two — two,  as  I’m  a living  man, 
and  even  them  have  our  mark  on  them — they  have  !” 

“ Poor  fellows ! brave  fellows !”  said  Owen  with  a pitying 
glance  at  the  half-naked  limbs  of  his  trusty  auxiliaries,  “ you 
have  probably  saved  our  lives  by  cutting  off  that  party.  Ac- 
cept my  thanks  for  your  timely  aid.  I must  see  that  your 
equipment  be  somewhat  better — come  with  us  to  the  castle — - 
you  need  refreshment !” 


264 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ God  bless  you,  general ! we’re  well  used  to  cold  and  hun- 
ger, anyhow — pull  out,  comrades ! there’s  fire  and  food  in 
Charlemont !” 

• The  party  from  the  castle  by  this  time  were  close  at  hand, 
and  no  words  can  express  their  joy  on  finding  their  general  safe 
and  sound  after  su-ch  an  encounter.  Hearing  how  the  matter 
was,  all  eyes  were  turned  on  the  Rapparees,  and  every  heart 
throbbed  with  gratitude  for  their  timely  interposition. 

It  so  happened  that  Shamus  Beg  was  at  the  castle  that  day 
on  business  of  Sir  Phelim’s,  and  as  the  Rapparees  crowded  into 
the  wide  hall,  where  the  blazing  fire  at  either  end  invited  their 
approach,  Donogh  felt  his  hand  lovingly  squeezed,  and  the  voice 
of  that  true  friend  spoke  at  his  side,  wishing  him  joy  of  the 
great  luck  he  had  in  regard  to  saving  the  general. 

“ And  I paid  my  mother,  Shamus  1 what  I owed  her  !”  cried 
the  young  man  eagerly  ; “ see  there’s  my  piece  of  drugget — ay  ! 
look — there’s  fresh  blood  on  it,  Shamus  aroon ! and  you  know 
what  sign  that  is — and  Lindsay,  too,  my  boy ! you  hadn’t  passed 

your  word  for  him  this  time — ha  ! ha  ! ha ! ” 

“ Donogh !”  said  Shamus  catching  him  by  the  arm,  “ is  it 

truth  you  tell  me  1 — is  he  dead  1 ” 

“ As  dead  as  ever  you  or  I’ll  be — why,  Shamus ! you  look  as 
if  you  were  sorry!” 

“ Well ! I’m  glad  and  I’m  sorry  both — I’m  glad  he  got  his 
earning  at  your  hands,  but  I’m  sorry  I missed  him  myself — I 
always  had  a look-out  for  him — still,  it  can’t  be  helped — it’s 
well  enough  as  it  is — where  is  Angus  from  you  the  day 
“ He  went  ofi  Derry  side  this  morning,  himself  and  Florry,  on  an 
errand  for  the  general  here — I’m  as  well  pleased  he  wasn’t  with 
us  a while  ago,  for,  between  you  and  me,  Shamus ! he  can’t  bear 
the  sight  of  blood,  though  as  brave  a gossoon  as  ever  drew  la 
pike ! Thanks  be  to  God,  Shamus ! I’m  thinking  it’s  a good 
morning’s  work  we  made  of  it  one  way  with  another  !” 

Although  the  wine-cup  was,  for  the  most  part,  a stranger  to 
the  lips  of  Owen  Roe,  he  emptied  a goblet  that  day  with  Con  Oge 
and  his  other  officers  to  the  health  of  Donogh  and  his  Rapparees — 
who  had  borne  so  large  a share  in  the  dangers  and  successes  of 
the  day. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


265 


But  O’Neill  was  not  the  man  to  sit  quietly  at  home  within  his 
Castle  walls  with  the  enemy  almost  at  his  threshold.  “ He  wax- 
eth  overbold,  Con!”  said  he  to  his  young  kinsman;  “ we  will 
clip  his  wings  for  him  before  long,  an’  there  be  strength  in  the 
Red  Hand.” 

And  they  did,  too — on  the  following  day,  Owen  Roe  marched 
from  Charlemont  long  before  dawn  with  a whole  brigade  of  his 
army  under  the  immediate  command  of  Colonel  Sandford,  and 
taking  a short-cut  through  the  mountains,  guided  by  some  of 
the  clansmen  from  that  neighborhood,  they  pounced  upon  Monroe 
when  he  least  expected  it,  and  their  fierce  onset  was  irresistible. 
Rejoiced  to  have,  at  length,  the  so-long  wished-for  opportunity, 
the  Irish  soldiers  rushed  like  lightning  on  the  astonished  foe, 
bearing  down  all  before  them.  No  time  was  given  the  Scots  to 
recover  from  their  confusion — O’Neill’s  horse  were  trampling 
them  down  in  headlong  charge,  while  the  heavy  axes  of  the 
gallowglasses  rang  on  their  steel  morions,  cleaving  them  through 
and  through,  and  the  pikes  and  bayonets  of  the  kerns  skewering 
them  like  wild-fowl.  And  dowfo  from  the  mountains  in  another 
direction  dashed  the  wild  wood-kern  with  their  fearful  shout : 
“ Island  Magee !”  and  their  pikes  finished  the  work  so  well  be- 
gun. Monroe  bewildered  and  dismayed — for  his  wits  were  never 
of  the  clearest — owed  it  to  the  steady  and  cool  bravery  of  a few 
of  his  officers  if  he  escaped  that  day  to  Carrickfergus  with  his 
thinned  and  shattered  forces. 

This  victory,  while  it  served  to  encourage  the  natives,  and  in- 
fuse new  life  into  the  sluggish  clansmen,  whose  martial  ardor 
had  begun  to  yield  to  procrastination  and  disappointment,  had 
also  the  effect  of  stirring  up  the  Scotch  generals  from  their  win- 
ter lairs  around  the  borders.  Cole  was  up  with  his  northern 
Protestants  on  the  Fermanagh  side.  Monroe  began  to  bestir 
himself  in  Antrim — Stewart,  ever  active,  quitted  O’Donnell’s 
country  and  advanced  cautiously  into  Tyr-Owen.  Montgomery 
and  Chicester,  uniting  what  men  they  had,  suddenly  approached 
O'Neill’s  district,  and  word  was  brought  the  General  in  Charle- 
mont  Castle  that  they  were  foraging  the  country  round. 

“Let  them,”  said  Owen  Roe,  “let  them — mucji  good  may 
they  get  of  their  plunder!”  The  wily  general  had  sent  the 
22 


266 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


cattle  to  the  hills  where  no  Scot  in  all  Ireland  would  venture  in 
search  of  them,  guarded  as  they  were  by  the  entire  strength  of 
the  Rapparees. 

A few  days  more  and  Owen  Roe  was  on  his  march  to  Leitrim, 
where  he  meant  to  co-operate  with  the  O’Rourkes,  O’Reillys 
and  others  of  the  border  clans,  still  harassed  by  the  lawless  bar- 
barians under  Hamilton’s  command.  It  was  a curious  sight,  or 
would  be  now,  to  see  Owen  Roe’s  army  in  motion,  wending  its 
tortuous  way  amongst  the  green  hills  of  Ulster.  Gallant  and 
bold  was  the  clansmen’ srbearing,  and  right  proudly  they  marched 
in  the  van,  with  their  spears  and  battle-axes  flashing  in  the  sum- 
mer sun,  and  the  new  banner  of  the  Confederate  Catholics,  with 
its  sacred  emblems,  floating  side  by  side  with  the  ancient  flag  of 
Tyr-Owen,  the  Red  Hand  blazoned  on  a white  ground.  Gallow- 
glasses  and  kerns,  enveloped  in  their  saffron-colored  garments, 
loose  and  large,  but  conflned  at  the  waist  with  a leathern  girdle  ; 
chiefs  in  their  national  costume,  too,  looking  stately  and  bold 
and  elate  with  hope  ; but,  strangest  of  all  to  modern  eyes  would 
have  been  the  herds  of  cattle  and  the  troops  of  women  and 
children,  forming  what  was  called  the  creaghts  * These  were 
the  families  of  the  clansmen,  whom  they  dared  not  leave  behind. 

* These  creaghts  are  often  mentioned  by  Castlehaven  in  his  Me- 
moirs as  “ Owen  Roe’s  Creaghts.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


207 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

“ With  grave 

Aspect  he  rose,  and  in  his  rising  seem’d 
A pillar  of  state  : deep  on  his  front  eogr.  veil 
Deliberation  sat,  and  public  care.” 

Miltdx. 

“ On,  on  to  the  just  and  glorious  strife, 

With  your  swords  your  freedom  shielding  ; 

Nay  resign,  if  it  must  be  so,  even  life, 

But  die,  at  least,  unyiolding  !” 

Some  weeks  before  the  events  just  related,  when  the  stormy 
winds  of  March  were  blustering  through  the  streets  of  the  old 
town  of  Trim,  and  whirling  in  eddies  around  the  towers  of  De 
Lacy’s  Castle,  there  was  such  a .stir  within  the  walls  of  the 
old  fortress  as  though  another  General  Assembly  of  some  kind 
were  taking  place  there.  But  no  such  thing  : of  a far  different 
nature  was  the  event  which  had  for  the  time  quickened  the 
pulses  of  the  old  borough.  Lords  and  knights  of  high  renown 
were  there  with  their  troops  of  followers,  but  none  of  the  old 
blood  were  amongst  them.  In  the  great  hall  of  the  castle  some 
ten  or  twelve  nobles  of  high  degree  were  assembled,  not  for 
purposes  of  deliberation,  nor  as  delegates  from  the  people,  but 
in  accordance  with  the  will  of  King  Charles  and  in  obedience  to 
his  command.  In  his  sore  need,  he  began  to  look  to  the  Con- 
federate Catholics  of  Ireland  (whose  successes  were  well  known 
to  him)  for  that  succor  which  might  strengthen  his  hands  against 
the  rebellious  Parliament  of  England  and  the  Puritan  faction 
in  both  countries.  All  at  once  the  monarch  pretended  to  dis- 
cover that  his  Catholic  subjects  of  Ireland  really  had  some 
grievances,  and  he  sent  pressing  orders  to  Ormond  and  the  Lords 
Justices  to  treat  with  them  on  the  subject,  hear  their  complaints, 


268 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  so  forth,  and  forward  them  to  him.  To  this  end  he  farther 
appointed  a commission,  consisting,  with  Ormond,  of  the  Earls 
of  Clanrickarde  and  Roscommon,  Sir  Maurice  Eustace,  and  one 
or  two  others  of  lesser  note.  These  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
were  to  confer,  on  the  part  of  his  Majesty,  with  other  commis- 
sioners appointed  by  the  Confederates,  and  with  hearts  buoyed 
up  with  hope  of  an  amicable  settlement,  the  Supreme  Council 
deputed  a corresponding  number  to  repair  to  Trim  in  accord- 
ance with  the  royal  command. 

In  that  stately  hall,  then,  of  Trim  Castle,  Lord  Gormanstown, 
Sir  Lucas  Dillon,  Sir  Robert  Talbot,  and  a few  others  met  the 
king’s  commissioners,  and  both  parties  looked  anxiously  for  the 
coming  of  Lord  Ormond.  Long  they  looked,  but  looked  in  vain, 
for  the  king’s  lieutenant-general  knew  better  than  to  forward 
the  king’s  views  in  effecting  an  accommodation.  Accordingly, 
whilst  Ulick  of  Clanrickarde  and  his  friend  of  Roscommon  were 
treating,  in  all  sincerity,  with  the  Catholic  commissioners  regard- 
ing the  grievances  which  had  compelled  the  Confederates  to 
take  up  arms,  and  declaring  the  benign  intentions  of  their  royal 
master  in  their  regard,  James  Butler  of  Ormond,  true  to  his 
utterly  selfish  character,  was  acting  on  the  instructions  of  the 
Lords  Justices  and  with  his  army  ravaging  and  laying  waste  the 
country  in  the  king's  name , a day’s  march  or  so  from  the  walls 
of  Trim. 

It  was  a grievous  disappointment  to  Gormanstown  and  Talbot, 
and,  indeed,  to  all  the  Catholic  commissioners,  that  Ormond  was 
not  present.  Their  faith  in  him  was  great,  those  Norman  nobles 
of  the  Pale,  whereas  Clanrickarde,  although  of  their  own  faith, 
had  little  of  their  confidence.  In  that  they  erred,  fatally,  blindly 
erred,  for  Clanrickarde,  disloyal  Catholic  as  he  was,  was  yet 
true  to  his  king,  and,  utterly  forgetful  of  his  own  interests, 
labored  in  earnest  and  with  all  his  might  to  effect  an  accommo- 
dationjvhich  he  knew  could  not  fail  to  serve  his  royal  master 
materially  at  that  critical  juncture  of  his  affairs.  For  the  inter- 
ests of  his  fellow-Catholics,  he  cared  not  a straw — let  them  take 
things  as  they  found  them,  just  as  he  did,  but  the  fortunes  of 
the  Royal  Stuart  were  of  primary  importance  to  Ulick  Burke, 
and  to  them  all  else  must  needs  give  way.  With  Ormond  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


269 


case  was  far,  far  different,  and  of  that  Clanrickarde  had  strong 
suspicions,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to  speak  rashly  on  any  sub- 
ject, least  of  all  in  what  concerned  the  most  powerful  lord  in 
Ireland,  the  king’s  trusted  lieutenant,  and  the  hope  of  Irish 
royalists. 

The  deputies  sent  by  the  Supreme  Council  were  just  the  sort 
of  plastic  materials  whereon  the  sage  Ulick  might  work  to  his 
satisfaction.  They  were  all  of  the  class  even  then  known  as 
“ moderate  men,”  that  is  to  say,  men  moderately  attached  to 
any  party,  but  strongly  attached  to  their  own  interests — men 
who  were  scandalized  by  the  more  impulsive  patriotism  of  their 
Celtic  associates,  and  more  anxious  in  reality  to  stand  well  with 
Lord  Ormond  and  his  party  than  with  the  Supreme  Council  of 
the  nation.  Had  any  chieftain  of  Irish  blood  formed  part  of  that 
deputation,  he  would  have  scowled  darkly,  perchance,  on  that 
Talbot  of  Malahide  who  had  served  the  Justices  against  faithful 
Wicklow,  and  who  now  made  his  obeisance  before  Clanrickarde 
and  his  brother  commissioners  as  a deputy  from — the  Confeder- 
ate Catholics.  But  neither  Mac  nor  0 was  on  the  commission, 
for  the  very  good  reason  that  the  magnates  of  the  Pale  had  even 
then  a preponderance  iu  the  Supreme  Council. 

With  characteristic  coolness  and  tact,  Lord  Clanrickarde  ex- 
pressed his  surprise  at  Lord  Ormond’s  absence,  “ seeing  that  his 
lordship’s  name  stood  first  on  the  commission.  Doubtless  he  is 
detained  by  some  lawful  cause  appertaining  to  his  Majesty’s 
service.” 

“ I hope  it  be  not  of  such  a nature,  then,”  observed  Lord 
Gormanstown,  “ as  that  matter  of  Timolin  V* 

“ Of  what  nature  was  that,  I pray  your  lordship  inquired 
the  Galway  earl. 

“ Methought  it  had  reached  your  lordship’s  ears,  for  it  hath 
been  much  talked  of.  It  fell  out  in  this  wise ” 

“Nay,  good  my  lord,”  quoth  Sir  Robert  Talbot,  “ seeing  that 
the  matter  hath  no  bearing  on  this  question,  it  is  but  loss  of 
time  telling  it  over.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Sir  Robert,”  said  the  less  accommodating  head 
of  the  house  of  Preston,  “ I think  it  hath  some  affinity  to  the 
present  business !” 


270 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


C{  1 would  hear  it,”  said  Clanrickarde  curtly. 

“ About  a fortnight  since,  when  my  lord  of  Ormond  was  or- 
dered by  the  Lords  Justices  to  advance  upon  Wexford  and  Ross 
by  way  of  Carlow,  having  occasion  to  pass  by  Fitz-Richard’s 
old  fortress  of  Timolin,  garrisoned  for  us  by  fourscore  men  or 
thereabouts,  the  Earl  summoned  them  to  surrender,  the  which 
demand  they  answered  by  hoisting  our  colors,  which  his  lordship 
seeing  waxed  wroth  and  did  begin  to  batter  the  castle,  and  for 
many  hours  kept  up  such  a fire  that  the  place  was  no  longer 
tenable — still  the  brave  fellows  refused  to  yield,  until  at  length 
the  building  took  fire,  and  the  rafters  were  blazing  over  their 
heads — then  the  garrison  capitulated,  and  were  suffered  to 
march  out ” 

“ And  then  ?”  demanded  Clanrickarde  with  a strange  smile, 
for  he  had  heard  all  this  before,  notwithstanding  his  seeming 
ignorance. 

“ And  then,  my  good  lord,”  resumed  the  peer,  “ they  were  all 
cut  to  pieces,  I suppose  by  some  unlucky  mistake,  albeit 
that  the  Earl  himself  was  present ”* 

“ Very  strange,  truly,”  observed  the  Earl. 

“ Ay,  marry,  my  lord,  strange  is  it,  in  sooth,”  said  §ir  Lucas 
Dillon ; “ and  the  more  so  when  we  consider  how  my  lord  of 
Castlehaven  did  himself  convoy  the  garrison  of  Birr  all  the  way 
to  Athy — so  with  my  Lord  Mountgarret’s  castle  of  B alien akill, 
and  many  others  taken  by  our  generals — it  is  passing  strange, 
and  I marvel  much  at  my  lord  of  Ormond,  above  all  men,  giving 
in  to  such  bloody  and  treacherous  deeds — at  a time,  too,  when 
he  cannot  but  know  that  our  lord  the  kiDg  much  desireth  peace 
with  us !” 

“ I can  no  wise  account  for  it,  indeed,”  was  still  Clanrickarde’s 
cautious  answer,  and  then,  changing  the  subject,  he  urged  the 
necessity  of  dispatch  in  preparing  the  statement  of  grievances 
intended  for  the  king.j-  But  little  remained  to  be  done,  the 

* This  massacre  at  Timolin  is  unfortunately  historical.  It  is  one 
of  the  blackest  stains  on  Ormond’s  memory. 

t One  of  the  requests  put  forth  in  this  famous  remonstrance  goes 
to  prove  beyond  all  doubt  that  the  alleged  massacres  and  murders  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


271 


document  having  been  carefully  drawn  up  for  the  Supreme 
Council,  subject  to  such  alterations  or  amendments  as  their 
commissioners  might  find  expedient.  It  was  presented  in  due 
form  to  Lord  Clanrickarde,  Mr.  Walsh,  one  of  the  Catholic  com- 
missioners, observing  with  a smile : 

“An’  the  old  saying  hold  good,  this  remonstrance  of  ours 
must  needs  be  of  excellent  account — an’  the  better  day  make  the 
better  deed,  we  could  desire  none  better  than  St.  Patrick's  Day. 
May  our  good  patron  bless  the  work  that  its  fruit  may  be  a last- 
ing peace,  honorable  and  advantageous  to  all !” 

And  all  the  commissioners  said  “ Amen,”  and  Lord  Clanrick- 
arde, with  his  usual  gravity  of  demeanor,  expressed  his  con- 
viction that  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  result,  seeing  that 
the  king,  of  his  paternal  goodness,  had  nothing  more  at  heart 
than  the  contentment  of  his  lieges  in  Ireland.  Whether  the 
politic  earl  really  believed  this  himself  or  not,  his  so  solemn 
asseveration  was  greedily  swallowed  by  the  Norman  lords  and 
gentlemen  to  whom  it  was  addressed, ' and  they  parted  in  all 
courtesy  and  kindness  from  their  fellow-commissioners,  and 
went  back  to  assure  the  Supreme  Council  that  things  were  in  a 
fair  way. 

Good  easy  men  they  doubtless  imagined  that  the  petition  from 
which  they  hoped  so  much  was  transmitted  “ by  the  first  post” 
to  “ their  gracious  sovereign”  for  his  just  and  equitable  consi- 

tho  Catholics  throughout  this  civil  war  were  neither  more  nor  less 
than  base  fabrications  of  the  enemy.  “The  leading  men  among 
the  Irish  have  this  to  say  for  tfaemsolvos,,,  says  Lord  Castlehaven, 
“ that  they  were  all  along  so  far  from  favoring  any  of  the  murderers, 
that  not  only  by  their  agents  (soon  after  the  king’s  restoration)  but 
even  in  their  remonstrance,  presented  by  the  Lord  Yiscount  Gor- 
manstown  and  Sir  Robert  Talbot,  on  the  17th  of  March,  1642,  the 
nobility  and  gentry  of  the  nation  desired  that  the  murders  on  both 
sides  committed  should  be  strictly  examined,  and  the  authors  of 
them  punished  according  to  the  utmost  severity  of  the  law,  which 
proposal,  certainly,  their  adversaries  could  never  have  rejected,  but 
that  they  were  conscious  to  themselves  of  being  d eper  in  the  mire 
than  they  would  have  the  world  believe.” — Castle  haven's  Me- 
moirs, p.  17. 


272 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


deration,  never  dreaming  that  it  was  destined  to  raise  a tempest 
in  the  Parliament  House  in  Dublin  before  it  left  the  kingdom. 
Yet  so  it  was,  and  before  ever  it  reached  the  hands  of  Charles 
Stuart,  it  was  discussed  and  dissected  before  “ the  Commons 
House”  in  Dublin,  and,  so  hotly  discussed,  too,  that  the  worship- 
ful body  of  lawgivers  came  to  loggerheads  on  account  of  it, 
and  the  parliament  was  prorogued  till  the  beginning  of  May.* 
Thus,  whatever  effect  the  unlucky  Remonstrance  might  have 
had  on  the  king’s  mind,  the  intentions  of  its  framers  faere 
wholly  frustrated,  and  the  ill-starred  monarch  was  deprived  by 
his  traitorous  servants  in  Dublin  of  the  means  of  judging  for 
himself  how  matters  stood  between  him  and  his  discontented 
Irish  subjects. 

It  is  probable  that  the  king,  crippled  as  he  was,  resented  the 
detention  of  this  Remonstrance,  and  blamed  Sir  William  Par- 
sons, for,  before  that  prorogued  parliament  came  together 
again,  that  crafty  and  perfidious  governor  was  superseded  in 
his  command,  and  Sir  Henry  Tichbourne  (notable  for  his  de- 
fence of  Drogheda  against  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill)  appointed  in  his 
stead. 

% Great  was  the  joy  and  exultation  of  the  Confederates  when 
the  news  of  Parsons’  recall  was  spread  throughout  the  country. 
His  rapacity  and  cold-blooded  cruelty  had  done  much  to  foment 
the  rebellion,  and  taking  place  at  such  a juncture,  his  removal 
from  office  was  accepted  by  the  ever-hoptful  Catholics  as  a 
concession,  and  a very  important  one,  to  their  just  demands. 
There  is  little  reason  to  think  that  the  king  or  his  advisers  had 
any  such  object  in  view  in  taking  this  step,  but  some  pains  were 
taken  by  Lord  Clanrickarde  and  men  of  his  stamD  to  give  the 
affair  that  turn  in  the  eyes  of  the  Catholic  party,  well  knowing 
that  their  hearts  were  ever  well  disposed  towards  the  king,  and 
anxious  to  see  his  acts  in  the  best  light.  “ Hone  on,  hope  ever” 
was  truly  their  motto  as  regarded  the  faithless  Stuarts,  and  it 
required  the  saddest  experience  to  tear  from  their  eyes  the 
bandage  they  had  themselves  put  on. 

All  this  time  the  Confederate  arms  were  in  the  ascendant  in 


Borlase’s  Irish  Rebellion , p.  155. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  273 

almost  every  part  of  the  country.  Preston  and  (especially) 
Castlehaven  were  more  than  holding  their  own  in  Leinster — in 
Connaught,  affairs  were  no  less  prosperous.  Lieutenant-General 
Burke,  well  supported  by  the  Catholic  nobility  and  gentry,  had 
done  wonders  during  that  long  winter.  With  him  were  acting, 
amongst  others,  the  heads  of  the  brave  Galway  tribes,  Sir 
Roebuck  Lynch  and  Sir  Valentine  Blake,  with  the  son  and 
grandson  of  Lord  Athenry.  Amongst  his  chief  officers  were 
also  three  valiant  gentlemen  of  the  ancient  house  of  Kelly, 
known  in  that  day  as  “ the  three  Teige  Kellys,”  and,  in  fact, 
most  of  the  chief  men  of  the  province  professing  the  old  faith. * 
It  was  a sore  grief  to  Lord  Clanrickarde — recently  made  a Mar- 
quis— to  see  the  Confederate  armies  triumphing  all  over  the 
province,  and  at  last  besieging  his  town  of  Galway,  without  his 
being  able  to  afford  any  relief  to  his  ancient  ally,  Willoughby, 
once  more  and  for  the  last  time  cooped  up  in  the  fort.  Truly, 
Ulick  de  Burgo  was  a sorrowful  man  that  day  when,  amid  the 
solitary  grandeur  of  Oranmore,  his  ears  were  stunned  by  the 
cannon  of  the  Catholic  army  battering  away  at  the  gates  and 
walls  of  Galway,  and  he  forced  to  reply  to  Willoughby’s  distressed 
prayer  for  succor  that  he  had  none  to  give.  His  new  coronet  * 
would  he  gladly  have  bartered  for  the  power  of  serving  “ the 
Puritan  enemy”  that  hour,  but  alas!  neither  men,  money,  nor 
arms  remained  at  the  great  Ulick’s  disposal,  and,  what  was  still 
more  grievous,  had  he  had  supplies  of  any  kind  to  give,  it  would 
have  profited  the  garrison  but  little,  for,  sad  to  tell,  the  unrea- 
sonable Confederates  had  cut  off  all  access  between  him  and 
the  fort,  placing  a chain  right  across  the  bay  so  as  to  blockade 
the  city  by  water  as  well  a.s  by  land.  What  a pass  were  things 
come  to  in  that  western  country  ! 

“ An’  this  matter  be  not  brought  to  a speedy  end  by  the  king’s 
royal  clemency  and  wisdom,”  sighed  the  new  made  Marquis,  as 
he  stood  looking  out  from  his  castle-keep  on  the  wintry  waters 
of  the  bay,  and,  drearier  sight  to  him,  the  ships  of  war  riding 
at  anchor,  with  the  green  flag  of  the  Confederates  floating  from 
their  topmasts  ; “ an’  it  be  not,  I fear  for  the  English  dominion 


* Meehan’s  Confed.  Kilk.t  p.  66. 


274 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


in  this  realm,  and  if  the  Irishry  have  once  their  own  way,  they 
will  overturn  many  a fair  holding  by  way,  forsooth  ! of  demand- 
ing restitution.*  May  God  confound  their  treacherous  courses !” 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  position  in  the  western  province, 
the  Catholic  army  of  the  south,  under  Barry  and  Purcell,  was 
no  less  successful.  Inchiquin,  Vavasour  and  Broghill,  with  all 
their  bravery  and  military  skill,  and  long  experience  in  the  art 
of  war,  were,  for  want  of  the  necessary  supplies,  unable  to  cope 
with  the  Confederate  generals,  and  finally  reduced  to  the  sorest 
straits.f 

The  Catholic  armies  were,  on  the  other  hand,  well  provided 
with  the  chief  necessaries  for  carrying  on  the  war,  for  money 
and  arms  were  pouring  in  from  the  various  courts  of  Europe. 
Friendly  governments  who  had  waited  to  see  what  the  Irish 
would  do  for  themselves,  beholding  the  gallant  and  pertinacious 
efforts  now  at  length  likely  to  succeed,  began  all  at  once  to 
take  a lively  interest  in  the*  Irish  war,  and,  in  fact,  to  regard  the 
nation  as  all  but  free.  Envoys  were  sent  accordingly  from  the 
courts  of  France  and  Spaing  to  the  General  Assembly  when  it 
met  again  in  Kilkenny  in  the  month  of  May,  while  letters  arrived 

* There  was  a lurking  suspicion  amongst  all  the  Anglo-Irish,  even 
those  who  took  side  with  those  of  the  old  blood,  that,  in  the  event  of 
success,  the  latter  might  turn  on  them  and  exact  the  restoration  of 
the  lands  wrested  from  their  forefathers. 

t “ The  condition,”  says  Mr  Meehan,  “of  Inch’quin  in  the  south 
may  readily  be  imagined  from  "a  letter  which  he  sent  in  the  early 
part  of  May  to  the  Earl  of  Cork  : ‘ Our  present  state,’  wrote  the  Earl, 
‘ fails  out  now  to  be  more  desperately  miserable  than  ever  : n regard 
we  have  no  manner  of  help  or  relief  amongst  ourselves,  and  the  p o 
visions  we  depended  on  out  of  England  doth  fail  us,  which  will  put 
us  to  a terrible  extremity,  here  being  nothing  to  deliver  forth  on  the 
next  pay  day.  I request  your  lordship  to  lend  or  borrow  £300,  for 
victualling  those  in  Youghal.  To-morrow,  with  a heavy  heart,  I shall 
march  forth,  to  linger  out  a few  days  in  the  field  where  I am  not 
likely  to  continue  so  long  as  to  enterprize  anything  of  advantage,  for 
want  of  provisions  for  the  men  and  money  for  the  officers.’  ” 

$ The  envoy  from  France  was  M.  De  la  Monarie;  from  Spain,  M. 
Fusyot,  a Burgundian. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


275 


from  the  ever-acbive  Father  Wadding  from  the  capital  of  the 
Christian  world,  announcing  that  his  Holiness  Urban  VIII.  was 
also  about  to  send  an  agent  to  the  Confederate  Catholics  of  Ire- 
land with  fresh  supplies  of  arms  and  money. 

And  these  things  were  told  Charles  Stuart,  cooped  up  within 
the  walls  of  Oxford,  and  daily  expecting  to  be  besieged  by  his 
rebellious  subjects,  the  Puritans  of  England.  And  then  he 
thought  of  “ the  Graces,”  and  the  Defective  Titles,  and  the  Court 
of  Wards,  and  all  the  many  edicts  he  had  published  against 
“ Popish  Recusants,”  and  he  groaned  in  spirit.  He  said 
within  himself : “ Had  I but  dealt  fairly  and  justly  with  those 
poor  Catholics  of  Ireland  they  would  now  be  my  best  and  most 
trusty  friends.  Nay,  these  canting  knaves  of  England  and  Scot- 
land would  not  dare  push  mo  to  the  wall  as  they  do,  had  I the 
strong  arm  of  faithful  Ireland  whereon  to  lean.  Alas ! they 
know  I have  not — they  know  it  well — they  know  how  I have 
dealt  with  that  people — when  I might  have  done  them  justice, 
even  in  a measure,  I did  not,  and  now  their  success,  which  might 
also  have  been  mine,  doth  but  straiten  me  the  more — all  Europe 
begins  to  respect  them  as  a nation — help  is  coming  to  them  from 
all  quarters — so  Clanrickarde  writes  me,  and  him  do  I believe 
beyond  most  others — they  have  ships,  and  arms,  and  money 
— I would  we  could  say  as  much  for  our  royal  self — and 
men  enough  for  the  training ! Surely  it  were  our  interest 
to  speak  them  fair,  and  act  fairly  by  them,  too — natheless,  that 
were  as  much  as  our  crown  were  worth,  by  reason  of  the  intol- 
erance of  these  Puritans  ! I would  we  had  not  given  in  so  much 
to  them  in  that  matter  in  times  past — it  is  now  too  late  to  draw 
back — natheless,  something  must  be  done,  and  that  full  quickly  ! 
— we  cannot  keep  that  war  on  foot  with  a worse  rebellion — ay, 
marry,  a veritable  rebellion — staring  us  in  the  face  here  at  home 
— rebellion! — ha! — are  our  Irish  subjects,  indeed,  rebels  1 Is 
it  our  authority  they  resist,  or  the  oppression’s  of  our  ministers'? 
Before  God,  I cannot  but  hold  them  well  affected  to  our  person 
as,  in  times  past,  they  have  ever  been  to  the  princes  of  our 
house !” 

In  pursuance  of  this  train  of  thought,  certain  instructions  of 


276 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


a peremptory  nature  were  forthwith  sent  to  Lord  Ormond,  the 
nature  of  which  will  presently  appear. 

Little  dreaming  of  what  was  passing  in  the  royal  mind  of  Eng- 
land, and  perchance  caring  little  if  he  did,  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  was 
marching  with  his  gallant  little  army  of  Ulstermen,  such  as  we 
have  described  them,  to  join  the  friendly  clans  of  Leitrim.  Such 
a junction  was  too  much  to  be  dreaded  by  the  Puritans  of  Ulster 
for  them  not  to  make  an  effort  to  prevent  it.  Accordingly,  the 
Catholic  army  had  barely  reached  the  confines  of  Fermanagh, 
where  the  ancient  town  of  Clones  stands  just  within  the  county 
of  Monaghan,  when  the  scouts  brought  in  the  startling  intelli- 
gence that  Sir  Robert  Stewart  was  in  hot  pursuit  with  a much 
larger  force. 

“An’  that  be  his  fancy,  we  must  e’en  humor  him,”  said  Owen 
Roe  ; “ better  now  than  when  our  march  hath  been  longer.” 

“ By  my  faith,  general,  we  have  been  over  long  resting  on  our 
oars,”  cried  light-hearted  Captain  Con,  as  he  tried  the  temper  of 
his  bright  blade  by  bending  it  till  hilt  and  point  almost  came 
together ; “ it  is  time  to  puli  up  now  an’  we  ever  mean  to  do  it. 
Lamh  dearg  aboo ! sons  of  Owen,  our  turn  is  come  at  last  1” 

“ Be  not  so  eager  for  the  fray,  Con,”  said  Owen  with  a kindly 
smile,  for  he  loved  the  impetuous  young  soldier ; “ mortal  strife 
ever  cometh  too  soon  ! Saints  and  angels  ! what  a host !”  The 
Scottish  force  was  just  visible  crowning  the  summit  of  a gentle 
acclivity  some  half  a mile  distant. 

Sir  Con  Magennis  here  advanced  to  Owen’s  side,  and  begged 
him  in  a low,  cautious  tone  not  to  wait  for  such  a force  as  that 
commanded  by  such  a captain  as  Stewart. 

“ Nay,  Sir  Con,”  said  the  chieftain  somewhat  indignantly, 
“ you  would  not  have  us  run  away  before  their  very  eyes — be- 
think you  of  what  the  antients  tell  us : ‘ Never  seek  the  battle, 
nor  shun  it  when  it  comes  !’  ” 

Magennis  shook  his  head,  but  he  answered  : “ Be  it  as  you . 
will,  O’Neill !”  and  then  hastened  off  to  see  that  all  was  right 
amongst  the  men  of  Iveagh. 

It  so  happened  that  a long  and  narrow  pass  lay  between  the 
two  armies,  and  of  this  Owen  Roe  hastened  to  take  possession, 
lining  it  on  either  side  with  double  rows  of  his  light  kerns  arm- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


277 


ed  with  guns  and  bayonets.  Hardly  were  the  troops  disposed 
in  order  of  battle  when  the  heads  of  Stewart’s  columns  were 
seen  approaching  the  farther  end  of  the  defile,  commanded  by 
Sir  William  Balfour  and  Colonel  Mervyn,  two  officers  of  estab- 
lished reputation. 

“ Sons  of  Owen,  the  odds  are  against  us  this  time,”  cried 
O’Neill,  “but  your  fathers  have  routed  the  foe  ere  no.v  with  a 
worse  chance  than  ours.  Remember  the  lane  at  Charlemont 
wherein  a score  of  us  kept  Monroe’s  army  at  bay  for  a full 
hour — be  firm  and  fear  not — we  may  give  these  proud  Scots  a 
story  to  tell  an’  they  reach  their  quarters ! Fix  bayonets, 
men !” 

The  clicking  sound  of  this  motion  had  hardly  died  away 
when  the  whole  body  of  Stewart’s  cavalry  came  up  at  a gallop, 
and,  without  time  for  deliberation,  were  ordered  by  their  gene- 
ral to  force-  the  pass.  Had  they  paused  even  a moment  the 
sternest  of  those  grim  yeterans  might  have  shrunk  from 
the  task,  but,  accustomed  to  implicit  obedience,  on  they  dashed, 
on  through  the  bristling  rows  of  bayonets,  cutting  and  hacking 
on  either  side  with  their  long  sabres — not  unscathed  they 
passed,  for  at  every  step  some  of  their  number  bit  the  dust,  and 
the  riderless  horses  kicked  and  plunged,  and  made  sore  con- 
fusion in  their  ranks.  Yet  maddened  by  the  fall  of  their  com- 
rades, and  determined  to  cut  their  way  through,  on,  and  still 
on  they  dashed,  the  brave  kerns  on  either  side  standing  their 
ground  right  manfully,  yet  still  unable  to  stem  the  rushing  tor- 
rent— on,  on  swept  the  death-dealing  Puritans,  flushed  now  with 
, the  certainty  of  success,  and  the  shouts  of  exultation  from  be- 
hind. 

“ Babylon  is  fallen  ! — death  to  the  recusants  !” 

“ The  Red  Hand  for  ever ! — Lamb  dearg  aboo  !”  made  an- 
swer the  Kinel  Owen,  as  their  cavalry  dashed  into  the  narrow 
defile,  meeting  the « enemy  with  a force  so  overwhelming  that 
men  and  horses  rolled  over  and  fell  back  on  those  behind, 
throwing  all  into  confusion.  On  and  over  the  prostrate  foe 
swept  the  fierce  horsemen  of  Tyr-Owen,  with  Con  Oge  in  their 
foremost  rank,  driving  all  before  them,  till  the  pass  was  cleared 
of  the  enemy,  save  only  the  dead  and  dying,  whose  groans 


278 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


mingled  dolefully  with  the  shouts  of  exultation  and  defiance  ex- 
changed between  the  combatants.  The  Irish,  believing  the  day 
their  own,  set  up  a cry  of  exultation,  as  their  cavalry  retreated 
through  the  pass,  to  resume  their  stations  in  the  rear — hardly 
was  the  movement  effected,  when  Stewart  himself  advanced  at 
the  head  of  his  cavalry  to  try  the  pass  again,  pointing  with  his 
sword  to  the  Irish  lines  beyond.  This  time  O’Neill’s  musketeers 
closed  their  ranks  obedient  to  the  voice  of  their  general,  dis- 
charging their  pieces  in  the  face  of  men  and  horses,  with  such 
stunning  effect  that  the  cavalry  were  forced  once  more  to  retire, 
leaving  several  of  their  comrades  dead  or  wounded  as  before. 
As  a last  resource,  Stewart  commanded  a party  of  infantry  to 
seize  the  pass  at  all  hazards.  This  was  done,  after  a desperate 
struggle,  during  which  many  of  the  brave  Irish  defenders  of  the 
pass  were  cut  to  pieces.  The  engagement  now  became  more 
general,  and  Owen  Roe,  advancing  to  the  front,  was  attacked 
by  a nephew  of  the  Scottish  commander,  ambitious,  no  doubt,  of 
fleshing  his  sword  on  the  greatest  of  all  the  Irish. 

“ Yield,  rebel  and  traitor ! yield !”  cried  the  excited  young 
officer ; “ yield  or  die 

“ I will  do  neither,”  said  O’Neill,  smiling  at  the  boyish  impetu- 
osity of  his  opponent ; “ defend  yourself,  young  sir  !”  and  draw- 
ing his  sword  he  prepared  for  the  combat,  with  as  much  cool- 
ness as  though  no  enemy  were  within  sight. 

“ Spawn  of  perdition,  this  to  your  heart,  then  !” . cried  his 
fierce  assailant,  aiming  a deadly  thrust  at  his  heart,  which  Owen 
parried,  and  was  preparing  to  close  with  his  antagonist,  when  a 
piercing  cry  arose  from  the  ranks  of  the  Kinel  Owen  : “ God  in 
heaven ! see  to  the  general,”  and  quick  as  thought  a well  aimed 
ball  made  its  way  to  the  heart  of  Stewart,  while  a dozen  pikes 
pinned  his  horse  to  the  ground.* 

“ So  perish  all  your  enemies,  Owen !”  said  Con  Oge  at  his 
kinsman’s  back ; “he  was  bent  on  slaying  you,  the  Puritan 
hound!” 

* Meehan’s  Confederation.  Ibid , note  to  p.  69,  quoting  O'Neill's 
Journal. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


279 


“ Nay,  Con,  were  he  the  devil  himself,  he  was  a brave 
fellow ” 

No  time  was  left  for  further  parley,  for  by  this  time  the  battle 
raged  on  all  sides,  and  Owen,  seeing  the  greatly  superior  num- 
bers of  the  enemy,  began  to  think  of  effecting  a retreat  while  it 
was  yet  time.  To  accomplish  this  object,  he  ordered  up  a re- 
served body  of  cavalry  commanded  by  Captain  Shane  O’Neill. 
No  sooner  was  this  perceived  by  the  enemy  than  yells  of  savage 
execration  burst  from  the  Puritans,  and  the  fanatic  preachers  of 
wrath  and  bJ^)od  were  seen  goading  them  on  to  yet  more  des- 
perate efforts. 

By  a series  of  admirable  manoeuvres  the  Irish  cavalry  made  . 
their  way  between  their  own  foot  and  that  of  the  enemy,  beat- 
ing down  the  Scotch  bayonets  with  their  broad-swords,  and 
keeping  up  a show  of  attack  in  order  to  cover  the  retreat  of  the 
infantry. 

“ Sons  of  Owen ! death  or  victory !”  cried  Con  Oge  O’Neill, 
whirling  his  sabre  high  in  air — they  were  his  last  words,  for  the 
next  moment  the  gallant  young  leader  fell  backwards  on  his 
horse  pierced  by  a mortal  wound.  In  the  heat  of  the  contest 
his  fall  was  for  a moment  unnoticed,  and  that  one  moment  was 
fatal  to  him.  Darting  with  maniac  fury  through  the  thick  of 
the  fight,  a man  in  a semi- clerical  habit  threw  himself  on  the 
half-dead  officer  and  stabbed  him  again  and  again.  One  long 
agonized  groan,  a gurgle  in  the  throat,  and  poor  Con  was  sense- 
less clay.  His  assassin  might  perchance  have  escaped  unnoticed 
as  he  came,  but  his  bloody  exultation  could  not  be  concealed. 
Holding  up  the  crimsoned  falchion  to  the  view  of  all,  he  uttered 
a yell  of  savage  triumph,  crying:  “ Wo— wo,  to  the  worshippers 
of  idols — lo ! I have  slain  a strong  man  of  the  Ammonites  !” 

The  words  were  hardly  uttered  when  the  minister  (for  such 
he  was)  fell  pierced  by  many  wounds,  the  steel  corslet  which  he 
wore  under  his  short  black  cloak,  shattered  by  the  blow  of  a 
ponderous  battle-axe,  and  his  scull  cloven  through  a morion  of 
the  same  metal. 

“ The  light  of  heaven  may  he  never  see  that  cut  your  thread 
of  life,  Con  Oge  !” 


280 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


It  was  Shane  O’Neill  that  spoke,  and  after  charging  some  of 
his  troopers  to  convey  the  body  to  tne  van  oi  the  infantry,  he 
made  another  vigorous  attack  on  the  enemy,  whose  line  was 
still  unbroken,  then  began  slowly  to  retreat,  with  his  face  to  the 
foe,  his  gallant  troop  beating  back  the  advance  of  the  Puritan 
cavalry  with  the  determined  courage  of  well-tried  veterans. 
The  trumpets  in  the  rear  kept  sounding  the  retreat,  and  Stewart, 
after  a short  conference  with  Balfour  and  Mervyn,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  as  well  to  let  the  Irish  go  their  way. 
Having  forced  the  pass,  they  were  so  far  victories,  and  from 
what  they  had  seen  of  Owen  Roe  and  hisiittle  army  they  judged 
it  best  to  be  content  with  what  they  had  gained,  rather  than 
risk  all  by  a further  contest.  Their  loss  was  already  consider- 
able, much  exceeding  that  of  the  Irish,  so  that  their  measure  of 
success  was  dearly  purchased,  and  gave  bitter  foretaste  of  what 
was  to  come. 

On  these  terms  they  parted,  the  Puritans  gloomily  discon- 
tented that  their  prey  should  escape  so  easily,  the  Catholics 
thankful  that  matters  were  no  worse  with  them,  and  little 
grudging  the  foe  liis  doubtful  victory  for  which  they  had  made 
him  pay  so  dear.  Not  unrevenged  was  Lady  O’Cahan  that  day, 
and  if  Con  O’Neill  fell,  an  hundred  dark-browed  Puritans  naid 
the  penalty. 

Well  satisfied  to  escape  so  easily,  yet  sad  and  sorrowful  for 
the  loss  of  his  favorite  young  kinsman,  whose  remains  he  con- 
signed to  consecrated  earth  within  the  friendly  territory  of  the 
O’Rourkes,  O’Neill  rapidly  pursued  his  march  to  Leitrim,  where, 
according  to  his  expectations,  his  army  received  considerable 
additions  from  the  chiefs  of  that  country,  whom  he  found  well 
prepared  for  war. 

It  wTas  within  the  .hospitable  walls  of  Drumahair,  where  Owen 
was  the  guest  of  the  O’Rourke,  that  a dispatch  was  brought 
him,  bearing  the  well-known  seal  of  the  Supreme  Council. 
Hastily  tearing  it  open  he  glanced  over  its  contents,  but  before 
he  reached  the  end  his  hand  trembled,  his  cheek  wTas  suffused 
with  crimson,  and  his  eyes  glowed  with  unwonted  fire. 

“ Heavens  above,  O’Neill  ! what  has  happened  V ’ cried 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


231 


O’Rourke,  whose  eye  was  on  him  at  the  moment.  “ What  news 
from  Kilkenny  can  stir  you  so  7” 

“ Read  for  yourself,”  said  Owen  Roe,  handing  the  document 
to  his  friend,  while  he  himself  arose  and  commenced  pacing  the 
hall  to  and  fro  with  a disturbed  and  angry  aspect,  ever  and  anon 
repeating  to  himself,  “ Fools ! dolts  ! What  spirit  can  possess 
them  7 Where  be  their  wits  1” 


282 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

“ Let  the  ancient  hills  of  Scotland 
Hear  once  more  the  battle-song, 

Swell  within  their  glens  ancl  valleys 
As  the  clansmen  march  along !” 

Aynton’s  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers . 

‘ His  words  seem’d  oracles 
That  pierced  their  bosoms ; — ’ 

Rev.  George  Croly. 

“ WnAT  think  you  of  that,  O’Rpurke  P’  said  Owen  Roe  as  his 
friend  handed  back  the  document. 

“I  think,  Owen,”  the  chieftain  replied  with  noble  indignation, 
“ I think  there  be  traitors  within  our  camp,  else  why  listen  to 
such  terms  at  such  a moment.  For  myself,  so  long  as  the  towers 
of  Manor  Hamilton  cumber  the  ground,  or  the  monster  who 
owneth  them  breathes  the  air  of  heaven,  so  long  do  I mean 
to  war  against  that  pestilent  crew  by  all  fair  and  honorable 
means ” 

“Your  hand,  Owen  O'Rourke!”  said  O’Neill  stopping  sud- 
denly in  front  of  him,  and  the  two  exchanged  a clasp  of  more 
than  brotherly  agreement,  “ pray  Heaven  and  our  dear  Lady 
there  be  enough  of  us  of  that  mind  in  the  Assembly  to  overrule 
this  mischievous  motion — an’  there,  be  not — then  God  be  our 
aid,  for  I much  fear  what  is  gained  will  come  to  nought.” 

“But  what — what  is  your  intent,  Owen!” 

“ I will  send  off  a messenger  this  very  hour  with  my  strong- 
est protest  against  this  wily  device  of  the  enemy ” 

“ And  what  then  1” 

“ Why,  make  the  best  use  of  our  time  pending  the  negotia- 
tions: you  know  what  I mean  1” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


283 


“ That  do  I,  and,  by  my  father’s  shield ! you  shall  have  what 
little  aid  we  can  give  you.  Where  left  you  O’Reilly  1” 

“ He  and  McMahon  were  to  join  me  here  on  the  eighth  day 
from  my  leaving  Charlemont.  They  promise  large  reinforce- 
ments.” 

“It  is  well,”  said  O’Rourke,  and  calling  to  him  his  faithful 
kinsman,  Manus,  he  ordered  him  to  send  trusty  messengers  to 
Cavan  to  hasten  the  movements  of  its  chief,  requesting  him  to 
speed  the  message  on  into  Uriel. 

“ Let  the  chiefs  know  that  we  await  them  here,  Manus,  and 
that  minutes  are  hours  till  we  see  their  banners  advancing.” 

Leaving  the  northern  chiefs  to  commence  that  grand  cam- 
paign for  which  their  astute  leader  had  been  so  long  preparing, 
let  us  see  what  was  passing  in  Kilkenny  that  had  so  disturbed 
the  calm  mind  of  Owen  O’Neill. 

Pursuant  to  the  king’s  command,  Ormond  had  sent  proposals 
to  the  Confederates  for  one  year’s  cessation  of  arms,  and  not- 
withstanding the  firm  and  strenuous  opposition  of  the  bishops 
and  most  of  the  old  Irish  who  were  of  the  council,  the  luke- 
warm Normans  of  the  Pale,  with  the  aid  of  Muskerry,  Mount- 
garret,  and  one  or  two  others  of  those  half-English  “ trimmers,” 
had  succeeded  in  appointing  a commission  to  treat  with  the 
Marquis.*  The  question,  however,  was  still  an  open  one  in  the 
Assembly,  where  all  the  genius  and  eloquence  of  Nicholas 
French, f the  fervid  enthusiasm  of  Archbishop  O’Kelly,  and  the 
united  influence  of  all  the  prelates  were  brought  to  bear  against 
the  Cessation. 

“What!”  said  the  venerable  Bishop  of  Ferns,  in  reply  to 
Lord  Mountgarret’s  announcement  that  the  commissioners  had 
been  named,  “what!  will  your  lordships,  then,  play  into  the 
hands  of  Ormond  who,  with  his  colleagues,  can  alone  benefit 
by  this  measure  1” 

“My  lord!”  said  Mountgarret,  “I  marvel  much  to  hear  a 

* Ormond  and  Clanrickarde  were  raised  to  the  rank  of  Marquis  in 
or  about  the  same  time. 

t The  illustrious  Bishop  of  Ferns,  one  of  the  most  eminent  prelates 
that  ever  adorned  the  Irish  Church. 


284 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


man  of  your  order  raising  his  voice  against  peace — of  the  which 
our  poor  country  hath  so  great  need  !” 

“ Peace  is  a good  thing,  my  Lord  Mount-garret,”  returned  the 
prelate  drily,  “ but  like  many  other  good  things  it  may  be 
bought  too  dear.  ‘ Our  poor  country’  hath  often  had  more  need 
of  your  lordship’s  pity  than  at  this  juncture  when  the  valor  of 
her  sons  hath  brought  the  enemy  to  sue  for  peace.  Truly,  this 
nation  hath  never  stood  so  near  her  deliverance,  never  made  the 
oppressor  quail  as  now  he  doth — wherefore  draw  back  now 
when  a few  steps  onward  may  bring  permanent  peace  made 
on  equal  terms  V ’ 

“ My  reverend  lord,”  said  Muskerry  in  a tone  of  great  excite- 
ment, “ you  who  have  not  the  brunt  to  bear  have  little  feeling 
for  our  necessities.  Rest  is  needful  unto  us,  and  time  not  less 
so.  A year’s  peace  will  enable  us  to  recruit  our  shattered 
forces,  and  otherwise  supply  our  wants  ” 

“ Talk  not  of  wants,  I beseech  your  lordship,”  the  prelate  warm- 
ly rejoined ; “ wliat  are  our  wants  now  compared  to  those  of  the 
enemy  'l  Wants,  forsooth  ! Is  it  the  Catholic  soldiers  whose  feet 
are  tracking  the  road  with  blood  for  want  of  covering  to  their  feet  1 
Is  it  the  Catholic  soldiers  who  are  forced  to  fight  with  empty 
stomachs  1* — not  so,  my  lords,  not  so — it  is  the  Puritan  bowels  that 
make  a rumbling  now  for  food — our  armies  in  all  the  provinces 
are  passably  well  fed,  clothed  and  cared  for,  thanks  to  the  Giver 
of  good  things ” 

“ Here,  surely,  is  some  mistake,  my  lord  of  Ferns,”  put  in 
Mountgarret  hastily ; “ we  are  assured  by  Lord  Ormond  that  his 

army  is  in  fair  condition,  and  wants  for  nothing ” 

“ Believe  him  not,  for  the  truth  is  not  in  him — we  have  wit- 

* Sir  Philip  Percival,  an  actor  in  the  scenes  he  describes,  thus 
pictures  the  condition  of  the  government  forces  : “The  state  and  the 
army,”  he  says,  “ were  in  the  greatest  distress.  The  streets  of  Dub- 
lin had  no  manner  of  victuals  many  times  for  one  day,  so  that  the 
soldiers  would  not  move  without  money,  shoes,  and  stockings;  for 
want  of  which  many  had  marched  barefooted,  and  had  bled  much  on 
the  road  ; and  others,  through  unwholesome  food,  had  become  diseased 
and  died.”  See  Meehan’s  Confederation. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


285 


ness  within  call  more  credible  than  he  were  he  fifty  Marquises — 
I pray  you  summon  hither  the  Rev.  Father  Quin,  of  the  order 
of  Jesuits.” 

Marvelling  much  what  this  might  mean,  the  necessary  orders 
were  given,  and  speedily  appeared  before  the  lords  spiritual  and 
temporal,  the  dark-visaged  son  of  Loyola,  whose  shadow  has 
more  than  once  crossed  our  pages. 

“ Father  Thomas  Quin,”  said  the  Bishop  of  Ferns,  “ no  man 
here  present  knoweth  so  well  as  thou  the  state  of  Ormond’s 
army.  Our  friends  of  the  council  have  it  on  his  lordship’s  au- 
thority that  his  men  want  for  nothing — ahem  ! only  the  cessa- 
tion of  arms,  would  his  lordship  admit  it — of  that  they  be  in 
sore  need.  How  say  you,  Father  Quin  V ’ 

“ I say,”  returned  the  Jesuit,  “ that,  for  all  his  -lordship’s 
boasting,  there  be  no  more  miserable  wights  in  this  realm  than 
the  men  who  fight  his  battles — an’  they  be  not  reduced  to  the 
last  extremity  ere  this,  never  men  were  so  near  it.” 

“ Father  Quin,”  said  Lord  Mountgarret  testily,  “ we  all  know 

the  coloring  w Inch  your  party  would  fain  give  to  this  matter ” 

“My  party!”  repeated  the  Jesuit  coldly,  “my  party,  Lord 
Mountgarret,  is  the  Catholic  body  entire — the  son  of  Ignatius 
hath  no  party  within  the  Church : — eyes  have  I to  see,  and  ears 
to  hear,  and  as  your  lordship  knows  full  well,  I see  and  hear 
what  few  Catholics  in  this  land^may  know  and  live !” 

“ I deny  it  not,  Father  Quin ! — God  forbid ! — I did  but  mean 
to  insinuate ” 

“ That  which  your  lordship  did  not  insinuate  when  one  of  our 
order — I say  not  whom — did  risk  his  life,  with  your  lordship’s 
knowledge,  to  administer  the  last  rites  to  young  Aylmer  and 
Lysaght  O’Connor,  when  Ormond’s  friends,  if  not  with  Ormond’s 
consent,  had  them  treacherously  executed.*  Your  lordship 
would  ! ave,  doubtless,  esteemed  that  Jesuit  a reliable  witness — 
were  Ormond  himself  at  the  bar  !” 

* “ At  the  battle  m Rathconnjll,  Lysaght  O’Connor  and  the  son  of 
Garret  Aylmer  had  been  made  prisoners  by  Sir  Richard  Grenville  ; 
in  order  to  exasperate  the  Catholics,  Parsons  and  his  colleagues  wrote 
to  Sir  H.  Tichbourne  to  have  them  executed  by  martial  law.” — Mee- 
han’s Confederation. 


286 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Well  said,  friend  Thomas !”  said  Dr.  Kirwan,  Bishop  of 
Killala,  who  safc  near  his  brother  of  Ferns.  “ You  speak  as  be- 
cometh  your  habit — ay  ! truly,  even  as  one  who  feared  them 
not ” 

“ / fear  them  !”  repeated  the  Jesuit  scornfully,  “ I who  have 
so  often  braved  death,  to  their  knowing,  in  the  most  hideous 
forms  that  Puritan  rage  could  devise — 1 fear  a set-.of  pusillanim- 
ous Catholics  who  are  ready  to  barter  away  on  hollow,  deceitful 
promises,  the  hard- won  measure  of  freedom  wrested  from  the 
enemy — I fear  them ! — nay,  my  good  lord,  an’  they  give  in  to 
that  double-faced  plotter,  Ormond,  in  this  thing,  the  day  will 
speedily  arrive  when  no  man  will  fear  them — when  all  good 
Catholics  will  spit  upon  and  execrate  them  ! I crave  pardon  of 
your  lordships” — bowing  humbly  to  the  Bishops — “ and  to  ths 
honorable  council,  if  I have  spoken  with  overmuch  warmth, 
but,  were  my  life  the  forfeit,  I could  not  help  it !” 

“ Father  Thomas  Qnin,”  said  Mountgarret — and  he  rose  from 
his  seat,  but  his  whole  frame  trembled  so  that  he  was  forced  to 
rest  his  risrht  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  chair — “ Father  Thomas 
Quin,  no  man  is  more  willing  to  admit  the  value  of  your  services 
than  I am  myself,  but — but — this  language  is  intolerable.  It  is 
a foul  slur  to  cast  upon  so  many  honorable  lords  and  gentlemen 
of  degree ” 

“ Very  indifferent  Catholics  are  they,  natheless,”  said  the 
uncompromising  Jesuit,  “ else  would  they  reiect  with  scorn 
such  overtures  coming  at  such  a moment  from  such  a quarter.” 

“ You  speak  strongly,  Master  Jesuit.” 

“ None  too  strongly,  Master  President ! I know  Ormond — 
you  do  not — any  of  you  who  signed  in  favor  of  this  Cessation 
— else  had  you  sooner  cut  off  your  right  hands  than  do  it  to  plea- 
sure him.*  I know  him,  and  therefore  do  I speak  in  this 
wise.” 

“ Have  a care  what  you  say,  Father  Quin,”  said  Lord  Mus- 
kerry  rising  in  great  agitation, Ormond’s  name  is  above  reproach 
as  above  suspicion !” 

“ It  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  my  Lord  Muskerry,  as  far 
as  Catholics  are  concerned,  and  to  your  face  I say  it,  spouse  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


287 


Eleanor  Butler* — if  any  man  here  or  elsewhere  will  dopy  that 
James  Butler,  Marquis  of  Ormond,  is  the  worst  enemy  we  have 
to  deal  with,  here  stand  I,  Thomas  Quin,  prepared  to  maintain 
the  proposition  by  evidence  clear  and  incontestible.  What  say 
you,  my  lords'?” — and  he  turned  slowly  round  the  semicircle 
formed  by  the  Norman  nobles — “ be  there  any  man  here  who 
will  assert  in  my  presence  that  James  Butler  of  Ormond  stands 
well  disposed  towards  Catholics  % What,  silent  all  1 — it  is  well ! 
With  your  lordships’  leave,  I will  now  retire.  I must  be  in 
Dublin  Castle  before  high  noon  to-morrow,  an’  God  spareth  my 
life  !” 

After  exchanging  a friendly  shake-hands  with  Archbishop 
O’Kelly,  Bishop  French  aad  Bishop  Kirwan,  the  sturdy  disciple 
of  Ignatius  strode  down  the  hall,  greeted  as  he  passed  with 
many  a fervent  blessing  from  those  of  the  old  blood,  while  most 
of  the  Anglo-Irish  looked  somewhat  coldly  upon  him.  But 
little  cared  the  Jesuit  for  cold  looks— no  man,  perchance,  on 
Irish  ground,  had  braved  death  oftener  than  he,  and  his  bold 
spirit  seemed  to  soar  to  yet  more  daring  heights  whenever  danger 
became  more  imminent — where  duty  or  charity  called  him, 
there  he  went,  deterred  by  no  obstacle,  his  inventive  genius 
surmounting  all,  as  his  great  personal  courage  and  iron  will 
raised  him  above  all.  In  those  days  of  terrible  persecution, 
many  a poor  Catholic  would  have  gone  to  his  account  “ una- 
nointed, unanneal’d,”  were  it  not  for  the  ubiquitous  and  all-pene- 
trating Jesuit  who,  under  one  disguise  or  another,  contrived  to 
find  his  way  full  often  to  the  gloomiest  dungeons  in  search  of  his 
suffering  brethren,  the  victims  of  Parsons’  insatiate  cruelty .f 
His  valuable  services  were  known  and  fully  appreciated  by  all 

*Lord  Muskerry  had  espoused  the  Lady  Eleanor  Butler,  sister  of 
the  Marquis. 

+ Thomas  Quin,  a Jesuit,  stationed  at  Dublin  in  1642,  was  untiring 
in  his  religious  exertions  and  used  occasionally  to  attire  himself  as  a 
soldier,  a gentleman,  or  a peasant,  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  Puri- 
tans, in  order  to  gain  access  to  the  houses  of  t:  e Catholics. — Gil- 
bert’s Dublin , p 221. 

The  adventures  of  this  remarkable  man  would  of  themselves  fur- 
nish an  interesting  volume. 


288 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


classes  of  the  Confederates,  but  being  himself  of  the  old  blood, 
the  English  of  the  Pale  were  at  times  somewhat  shy  of  him  on 
account  of  his  gi-eat  influence — when  Bishop  French  summoned 
him  as  a witness  against  Ormond,  he  well  knew  that  no  one  present 
would  dare  controvert  his  assertions  openly,  and  that  if  the  fatal 
policy  of  the  Ormond  party  prevailed,  as,  from  their  numbers 
in  the  council,  he  feared  it  would,  they  would  have  to  carry  it 
out  in  the  face  of  such  testimony  as  even  they  could  not  r, eject. 

A few  days  more  and  Nicholas  French  rose  again  in  the 
council-chamber  to  renew  the  subject  of  the  cessation.”  Dis- 
patches had  that  morning  arrived  from  Owen  Roe  O’Neiil,  dated 
from  the  borders  of  Westmeath,  and  stating  that  the  country 
up  to  that  point  was  all  in  the  hands  of  the  Confederates — with 
the  exception  of  Carrickfergus  and  a few  other  garrison  towns  in 
the  far  north.  This  announcement  excited  no  small  surprise, 
especially  amongst  the  Norman  lords  present. 

“ Truly,”  said  Lord  Gormanstown,  “ it  was  about  time  for 
O’Neill  to  bestir  himself.  An’  he  lay  on  his  oars  much  longer 
the  battle  would  have  been  well  nigh  over.  He  is  a slow  man 
and  over-cautious,  I opine.’ 

“ The  more  like  the  tortoise  in  the  fable,  my  lord,”  said  Bishop 
French  v^ith  sly  emphasis,  “ you  begin  to  see  now  what  he  can 
do  when  ho  deemeth  his  weapons  tempered  for  use.  Scarce  two 
weeks  have  passed  since  he  took  the  field  in  good  earnest,  and, 
with  the  single  exception  of  that  affair  at  Clones,  his  course 
hath  been  marked  by  brilliant  success.  A good  beginning, 
surely  1” 

“ Well  enough  for  the  time,”  said  the  peer  coldly,  “ but  some- 
what early  in  his  career  to  count  on.” 

“ My  Lord  Gormanstown,”  said  the  Bishop,  “ I would  have 
you  take  notice  that  General  O’Neill  hath  done  more  in  the  two 
weeks  last  past  than  any  of  our  commanders  hath  done  in  as 
many  months — no  disrespect  to  them,  either — but ” 

“ Does  your  lordship  mean  to  oast  a slur  on  the  others,”  put 
in  Gormanstown  abruptly,  “ to  exalt  O’Neill’s  prowess  and  what 
not,  at  the  exDense  of  those  who  have  borne  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day  1” 

“ An’  it  go  to  that,”  returned  the  prelate,  “ your  lordship  can- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


289 


not  but  know  that  there  be  many  who  think  those  generals  of 
whom  you  speak  might  have  done  more  with  the  time  and  op- 
portunities they  had ’’ 

“ My  lord  of  Ferns,”  said  Gormanstown,  pale  with  anger, 
“ this  language  of  yours  were  better  explained.  You  would  not 
hp,ve  us  think ” 

“ I crave  your  lordship’s  pardon,”  said  the  Bishop,  with  that 
mild  yet  firm  gravity  which  ever  belonged  to  him,  u I crave 
your  lordship’s  pardon,  an’  my  speech  be  not  to  your  liking. 
Truth  must  be  told,  nevertheless,  and  since  you  put  it  to  me,  I 
do  say,  speaking  in  the  interests  of  our  Confederation,  that  with 
the  forces  at  his  command,  and  the  great  abundance  of  all  need- 
ful things  which  he  hath  had  from  the  first  beginning,  I do  say 
before  this  honorable  council,  that  which  thousands  say  else- 
where, to  wit,  that  General  Thomas  Preston  hath  not  pressed 
Ormond  as  he  might  have  done.  An’  he  met  that  false  lord 
face  to  face,  now  that  his  army  is  so  greatly  weakened  and  ours 
in  such  fair  condition,  our  colors  were  flying  ere  this  on  Dublin 
Castle.”* 

“ So  little  being  done,  then,”  said  Gormanstown,  in  a sarcas- 
tic tone,  “ wherefore  doth  your  lordship  object  to  a cessation  of 
hostilities 

“ Far  be  it  from  me,  lord  of  Gormanstown,  to  say  that  little 
hath  been  done;  it  is  because  much  hath  been  done,  Divine 
Providence  assisting,  that  I hold  the  cessation  inexpedient — had 
less  been  done  on  our  side,  no  such  proposition  would  ever  have 
come  from  the  enemy,  and  the  very  fact  of  their  making  it, 
proves  tqjp,  certainty  their  weakness  and  our  strength.” 

“ But,  admitting  that,  my  reverend  lord,”  said  Muskerry, 
“ in  what  way  will  the  cessation  injure  us  'l — an’  it  give  the 
enemy  twelve  months’  rest,  it  will  give  us  the  same — we  shall 
be,  at  least,  nothing  worse  than  we  are  now.” 

* Ormond,  who  had  left  Dublin  at  the  head  of  6 000  men,  accom- 
panied by  Lord  Lambert,  failed  to  bring  Preston  to  an  action ; nor 
did  the  conduct  of  this  general  fail  to  engender  suspicion,  for  he  had 
an  army  which  was  well  supplied,  whilst  that  of  the  Marquis  was, 
according  to  the  testimony  of  Carte,  “ ready  to  starve  for  want  of 
provisions.” — Meehan’s  Confederation , p.  70. 

13 


290 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ That  I deny,  my  lord,”  said  the  far-seeing  prelate,  “ that  I 
deny  in  toto.  We,  having  the  advantage,  ought  to  follow  it  up. 
Strike  while  the  iron  is  hot , said  the  wise  men  of  old.  Our 
armies  are  now  elated  with  success,  agree  to  the  Cessation 
and  you  cool  them  down,  ay,  marry,  as  much  as  Ormond 
himself  could  desire.  Push  on  the  war  now,  and,  as  God 
liveth,  the  Cross  will  he  triumphant  in  this  land,  and  the 
m wiles  of  the  oppressor  brought  to  nought  before  the  year 
is  out.  Make  a truce  with  the  enemy  and  you  stop  the 
victorious  career  of  our  general  and  damp  the  courage  Ox 
their  troops.  Here  hath  Sir  John  Burke  brought  well  nigh 
the  whole  of  Connaught  into  subjection,  so  that  even  Clanrick- 
arde’s  Galway  hath  had  to  capitulate.*  Castlehaven  and  Preston 
are  far  ahead  of  the  enemy  in  Leinster — our  old  friend  Barry, 
with  the  aid  of  my  Lord  Castlehaven,  hath  humbled  the  pride 
of  Inchiquin  and  Vavasour  in  Munster,  and  we  know  that  Owen 
Roe  and  the  northern  chieftains  hold  Ulster  in  safe  keeping  for 
us.  My  lords,  an’  you  make  a truce  now  you  arrest  the  uplifted 
arms  of  your  warriors  and  leave  them  standing  as  fools  face  to 
face  with  the  enemy.  It  were  madness,  I say,  madness” — he 
paused  and  looked  around  on  the  pale  faces  and  contracted 
brows  of  the  nobles,  then  rapidly  added,  “ either  madness  or 
something  worse !” 

The  vehemence  with  which  the  prelate  spoke  was  not  without 
its  effect  on  those  who  heard  him.  Be  their  sympathies  as  they 
might,  the  lay-lords  had  no  arguments  to  bring  forward  in  op- 
position to  those  of  Dr.  French,  and,  hoping  to  gain  time,  they 

* The  siege  of  Galway  was  pressed  with  vigor  ; and  soTtraitened 
was  Willoughby,  that  he  offered  to  surrender  the  fort  to  tbe  Marquis 
of  Clanrickarde,  after  Rear-Admiral  Brooke  had  failed  to  throw  in 
supplies.  Burke  would  not  hear  of  such  an  overture,  unless  the  Mar- 
quis consented  to  take  the  Confederate  oath,  which  he  sternly  re- 
fused, and  the  parliamentary  general  surrendered  the  fortresses  of 
Galway  and  Oranmore  to  the  heroic  Burke  on  the  20th  of  June. 
Three  days  afterwards  a squadron  entered  the  bay,  but  the  colors  of 
the  Confederates  were  streaming  from  the  flag-staff.  The  Archbishop 
of  Tuam  was  one  of  the  parties  who  drew  up  the  articles  with  Wil- 
loughby ; and  this  infamous  murderer  was  permitted  to  depart  in 
peace. — Confederation , p,  71. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


291 


appeared  to  give  in  somewhat,  especially  as  they  saw  that  the 
prelates  were  all  ranged  against  them. 

Leaving  the  lords  of  the  Pale  to  digest  at  leisure  the  unanswer- 
able reasoning  of  the  Bishop  of  Ferns,  let  us  glance  for  a mo- 
ment at  Castlehaven’s  proceedings  in  Munster,  whither,  as  the 
Bishop  intimated,  he  had  been  sent  to  assist  General  Barry,  then 
pressed  rather  hard  by  the  united  forces  of  Inchiquin  and  Va- 
vasour. 

Kilmallock  was  besieged  by  a strong  force  under  Lord  Inchi- 
quin himself,  and  to  raise  the  siege  was  the  first  and  most  press- 
ing duty  of  Castlehaven.  It  is  true  he  had  been  somewhat  un- 
willing to  undertake  that  expedition,  but,  once  fairly  into  it,  his 
spirit  rose  with  the  occasion,  and  he  marched  from  Kilkenny  in 
gallant  style,  with  that  military  parade  of  which  he  was  fonder 
than  most  men.  He  had  with  him  as  aid-de-camp,  Captain 
Fitzgerald,  better  known  as  Garret-Garrough,  an  officer  who 
stood  high  in  his  estimation.  Learning  that  Barry  and  Purcell 
were  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cashel,  thither  Castlehaven  bent 
his  course,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  Rock,  flung  far  and 
wide  by  the  summer-day’s  sun,  the  two  generals  formed  a junc- 
tion, their  united  forces  amounting  to  about  3,000,  well  trained 
and  well  provided.  In  addition  to  this  regular  force  of  horse 
and  fbot,  Castlehaven  had  at  his  command  a novel  appendage  to 
an  army  in  the  shape  of  a numerous  troop  of  boys,  mounted  on 
light,  fleet  horses.  Doubtless  the  grim  veterans  who  followed 
Inchiquin’s  banner  would  have  smiled  in  scorn  at  sight  of 
these  puny  warriors,  with  their  slight,  boyish  figures  and  fair 
unsunned  faces,  and  javelins  as  light  as  if  meant  for  pastime. 
And  yet  they  were  not  to  be  despised,  as  their  general  well 
knew,  for  within  those  boyish  forms  were  the  spirits  of  grown 
men,  hearts  undaunted,  and  souls  of  fire,  prompt  to  do  and  dare 
what  their  seniors  well  might  shrink  from. 

Moving  rapidly  on  Kilmallock,  Lord  Castlehaven  was  met  by 
scouts  with  the  surprising  intelligence  that  Inchiquin  had  raised 
the  siege  and  marched  away  by  night  towards  the  K>  rry  moun- 
tains,* detaching  Vavasour  with  some  1700  men  on  an  expedi- 
tion to  Castle-Lyons,  it  was  thought,  in  the  county  Cork. 

* This  circumstance  alone  is  sufficient  to  prove  the  high  reputation 


292 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Castle-Lyons,  however,  was  not  the  object  of  that  forced 
march  of  Vavasour,  nor  would  Inchiquin  have  detached  such  a 
force  from  his  own  for  the  capture  of  any  village.  But  in  the 
neighborhood  was  the  Castle  of  ClogMeigli,  so  gallantly  taken 
by  the  Condons,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  and  held  ever 
since  by  our  old  acquaintance,  Arthur,  for  the  Confederates. 
Dear  to  the  vengeful  heart  of  Inchiquin  was  the  thought  of 
wholesale  massacre,  and  he  had  sworn  a fearful  oath  that  the 
sept  of  the  Condons  should  be  extinguished  in  blood  ere  the  war 
was  over. 

Now  Barry  well  remembered  brave  Arthur  Condon,  and  his 
taking  of  the  castle  with  such  masterly  skill  and  heroic  valor, 
and  he  started  in  terror  when  he  heard  of  the  direction  taken 
by  Vavasour.  Going  at  once  to  Castlehaven,  he  urged  him  to 
set  forth  in  pursuit  without  a moment's  delay. 

“ Haste,  haste,  my  lord,”  said  the  chivalrous  veteran ; “haste, 
I charge  you  for  Christ’s  dear  sake.  Haste  an’  you  would  save 
some  four  score  odd  of  the  bravest  fellows  on  Irish  ground — by 
Our  Lady,  we  cannot  go  fast  enough,  let  us  ride  our  best !” 

Castlehaven  had  heard  the  tale  ere  then,  and,  truth  to  tell,  he 
was  fain  to  succor  the  gallant  Condon  as  man  could  be.  Start- 
ing, then,  in  pursuit  of  Vavasour,  the  army  marched  night  and 
day  till  a mountain  only  separated  them  from  the  enemy.  It 
was  Condon’s  Country,  and  beyond  that  mountain  lay  Cloghleigh 
Castle.  It  was  evening,  Saturday  evening,  and  a troop  of  horse 
was  dispatched  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  enemy.  The  cavalry 
officer  to  whom  that  charge  was  entrusted  was  a tall,  stately 
man,  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  a strongly  marked,  yet  rather 
handsome  countenance,  reminding  you  of  some  one  you  had 
seen,  and  once  seen  never  forgotten.  It  was  a startling  thing  to 
find  the  living  likeness  of  Ormond  in  the  Confederate  camp,  and 
yet  it  was  easily  explained — that  captain  of  dragoons  was  Richard 
Butler,  brother  to  the  great  Marquis,  and  brother-in-law  of  Lord 

which  the  Confederate  armies  had  by  this  time  gained,  seeing  that 
Lord  Inchiquin  had  at  the  siege  of  Kilmallock  a torce  of  7,000  men, 
as  Castlehaven  positively  states  in  his  Memoirs,  whereas  the  Con- 
federates, as  we  have  seen,  numbered  no  more  than  3,000  regular 
soldiers. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


293 


Castlehaven,  a staunch  adherent  of  the  national  cause,  and  as 
true  a Catholic  as  ever  bent  knee  before  an  altar.  Like  many 
another  of  the  Norman  nobles  engaged  in  that  struggle,  Richard 
Butler  embarked  therein  in  all  sincerity,  and  fought  on  the  side 
of  truth  and  justice  as  became  a Christian  knight,  until  the 
poison  from  his  brother’s  lips  gradually  diffused  itself  into 
Richard’s  heart,  and  he  learned  to  distrust  his  fellow-Catholics  of 
the  old  blood.  At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  however,  there 
was  not  one  of  the  Confederates  more  heartily  devoted  to  the 
cause  than  Richard  Butler,  of  Kilcash,  and  it  .pleased  him  well 
to  be  sent  on  such  an  errand  that  fair  summer’s  eve. 

The  hours  of  the  short  midsummer  night  passed  slowly  and 
heavily  in  the  Confederate  camp,  just  three  miles  from  the 
castle.  Every  soul,  from  the  generals  down  to  the  horse-boys 
who  cared  their  steeds,  was  anxious  for  the  fate  of  the  brave 
Cond  ons  ; yet  it  was  thought  unsafe  to  proceed  further  till  the 
enemy’s  motions  were  ascertained  with  certainty.  All  that 
night  the  Confederates  kept  watching  and  listening,  but  no 
sounds  of  strife  came  on  the  breeze,  and  they  hoped  that  the 
Puritans,  like  themselves,  were  awaiting  the  morning  light  for 
action. 

Fatal  security;  fatal  delay!  With  the  earliest  dawn  came 
the  far-off  roll  of  musketry  and  the  heavy  booming  of  the  can- 
nonade. Instantly  the  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  the  army  was 
in  motion  without  a moment’s  delay — alas ! too  late.  Before 
the  last  man  had  quitted  the  place  of  encampment,  word  was 
brought  to  Lord  Castlehaven  that  Cloghleigh  Castle  had  been 
taken  by  Vavasour,  and  the'  heroic  garrison  cut  to  pieces,  when 
marching  out  on  honorable  terms.*  Butler  had  only  arrived  in 
time  to  witness  the  sad  catastrophe,  and  small  as  his  force  was, 
he  immediately  attacked  the  base  cut-throats,  without  pausing 
to  consider  the  fearful  odds  against  him. 

With  the  vengeful  cry  of  “ Butler  Aboo-!”  his  followers  rushed 
headlong  on  the  enemy,  and  before  he  had  recovered  the  confu- 
sion following  that  fierce  onslaught,  the  Irish  trumpets  gave 
note  of  the  army’s  rapid  approach. 


t&.See  Castlehaven’a  Memoirs , p.  40. 


294 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Now,  Vavasour,”  cried  Richard  Butler,  “ accounting-time 
is  near;  so  sure  as  God  is  in  heaven,  you  shall  rue  this  cruel 
outchery — keep  your  ground,  my  men,  and  fix  bayonets — let 
them  charge  our  bristling  steel ! — for  God  and  our  murdered 
friends  this  day !” 

Whilst  Vavasour  and  his  officers  were  vainly  endeavoring  to 
surround  the  gallant  little  troop  so  as  to  cut  off  their  retreat,  the 
meads  of  the  Confederate  columns  were  seen  crossing  the  moun- 
tain’s brow — it  was  but  the  cavalry,  however,  under  Lord 
Castlehaven,  Barry  with  the  infantry  being  left  far  behind,  and 
flying  in  squadrons  on  either  side  like  winged  messengers  of 
wrath,  came  the  boy-horsemen,  blithe  and  active  as  mountain 
goats. 

Vavasour,  knowing  the  Confederate  army  at  hand,  had  sent 
off  his  cannon  and  baggage  towards  Fermoy,  fearing  their  cap- 
ture by  the  enemy,  and  now  he  had  to  encounter  the  avenging 
army  of  the  Confederates  without  as  much  as  a piece  of  ord- 
nance. Seeing  the  large  body  of  cavalry  approaching,  the 
Puritans  made  another  desperate  effort  to  cutoff  Butler’s  troop, 
but  with  incredible  dexterity  they  kept  hovering  on  the  flank, 
acting  only  on  the  defensive  till  the  loud  huzzas  of  their  Com- 
rades told  them  that  succor  was  at  hand,  and  then  in  on  the 
enemy  they  dashed  at  one  side  just  as  Castlehaven’s  men  did  at 
the  other.  Their  joint  attack  was  so  overwhelming  that  Vava- 
sour gave  orders  for  his  foot  to  move  slowly  on  towards  the 
river,  hoping  that  the  cavalry  might  be  able  to  cover  their  re- 
treat by  keeping  the  Confederates  engaged.  He  reckoned  with- 
out his  host,  however,  for  while  the'  two  divisions  of  the  Irish 
cavalry  pressed  furiously  on  his  flanks,  the  rear  was  harassed  by 
the  pertinacious  attack  of  the  boy-cavaliers,  who,  with  their 
light,  sharp  lances,  did  much  execution,  goading  on  both  men 
and  horses,  caracolling  around  with  strange  velocity  as  they 
darted  their  javelins,  yelling  and  hooting  the  while  after  their 
boyish  fashion.*  The  Confederate  cavalry  fought  well  that  day, 

* “ That  troop  of  boys,  mounted  on  fleet  horses,  was  pressing  on  the 
forlorn  hope,  not  after  the  fashion  of  drilled  and  disciplined  men, 
but  rather  like  ‘ the  Moorish  and  Getuiian  horsemen,’  says  Borlase, 

‘ mentioned  by  Sallust  in  Jugarth’s  war.’  ” — Meehan’s  Confederation, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


295 


and  the  Puritans  fell  beneath  their  blows  like  forest-trees  when 
the  storm  sweeps  through  their  midst,  but  the  brilliant  victory 
they  gained  was  due  as  much  to  that  youthful  band  of  heroes 
with  their  wild,  untrained  valor,  as  to  the  more  systematic  at- 
tack of  their  seniors-in-arms.  Almost  surrounded  as  they 
were,  and  maddened  by  the  strange  annoyance  from  behind, 
which  their  horses  felt  still  more  than  themselves,  the  Puritan 
cavalry  at  last  gave  way,  and  were  driven  forward  on  their  own 
infantry,  trampling  them  down  with  fearful  slaughter.  The 
whole  fell  into  confusion,  and  horse  and  foot  broke  and  fled  be- 
fore the  avenging  arms  of  the  Confederates.  But  after  them 
dashed  Castlehaven  and  Butler  with  their  valiant  dragoons,  and 
around  and  before  them  hovered  “ the  boys to  crown  their 
misfortune  Vavasour  himself  was  taken  prisoner,  and  after  that 
the  rout  became  general.  Many  officers  were  taken  prisoners, 
and  600  of  Vavasour’s  best  soldiers  “ were  killed  between  the 
Manning-water  and  Fermoy.”  Even  their  cannon  was  overtaken 
and  captured,  and  their  colors  all  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
C onfederates. 

Bloodily  was  the  murder  of  the  gallant  Condons  avenged 
that  day,  and  the  rumor  of  that  great  victory  gave  new  life  and 
hope  to  the  Confederates  all  over  the  kingdom. 


296 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

“ The  death-shot  hissing  from  afar, 

The  shock,  the  shout,  the  groan  of  war.” 

Byron’s  Giaour. 

“ I know  the  action  was  extremely  wrong  ; 

I own  it,  I deplore  it,  I condemn  it ; 

But  I detest  all  fiction,  even  in  song, 

And  so  must  tell  the  truth,  howe’er  you  b^amo  it !” 
Byron's  Don  Juan. 

Scarce  had  Castlehaven’s  splendid  victory  over  Vavasour 
been  reported  in  Kilkenny  when  other  couriers  came  dashing 
in  from  the  border  county  of  Meath  with  as  stirring  tidings  from 
Owen  Roe.  That  chieftain  had  taken  up  a strong  position  at 
Portlester,  a few  miles  from  Trim,  where  Sir  James  Dillon  had 
joined  him  with  a small  but  effective  force.  All  was  likely  to  be 
needed,  for  the  clansmen  had  little  more  than  time  to  exchange 
a friendly  greeting  with  the  stout  Palesmen  who  marched  under 
Dillon’s  banner  when  news  came  in  that  Lord  Moore  was  ap- 
proaching at  the  head  of  a strong  force. 

“Let  him  come,”  said  O’Neill  quietly;  “with  the  help  of 
God  and  our  good  neighbors  of  the  Pale  here  we  are  well  able 
for  him.” 

Just  as  Moore’s  cavalry  came  in  sight,  another  messenger 
came  riding  in,  his  horse  all  covered  with  foam  and  himself 
panting  for  breath. 

“ In  God’s  name,  what  tidings  bring  you  V'  said  the  general 
with  some  anxiety. 

“ Colonel  Moncke  is  advancing  from  Wicklow ” 

“ Cometh  he  this  way  V’ 

“ Even  so,  general,  and  fast  enough,  too,  as  poor  Mullingar 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


297 


here — tnat’s  my  horse,  please  your  nobleness  ! — Can  tell  to 
his  cost,  the  creature  ! Dear  knows,  we  had  a nard  ride  of  it, 
himself  and  me,  to  give  you  the  word  in  time !” 

“ You  have  done  well,  my  brave  fellow, ’*  said  Owen,  unable 
to  repress  a smile  even  at  that  critical  moment ; “ take  Mullingar 
and  yourself  to  the  rear  and  refresh  yourselves.” 

“ But  Colonel  Moncke  will  be  here  in  no  time,  general,  and 
the  other  villains  are  close  at  hand  yonder.  I’m  afeard — I’m 
afeard  it  will  go  hard  with  you  !” 

“ Never  you  mind  that,  honest  fellow,  but  do  as  I told  yon  !” 
and  away  rode  Owen  to  where  he  had  a breastwork  thrown  up 
over  night — behind  it  now  lay  the  choicest  marksmen  of  his 
army. 

“ God’s  blessing  be  about  him  every  day  he  rises,”  ejaculated 
the  sturdy  scout,  looking  after  him  with  admiring  eyes,  “ see 
how  well  he  doesn’t  forget  Mullingar  or  mein  all  the  stir.  Lord 
save  us  all  this  day,  what  a mighty  great  army  there  is  of  them — 
the  black-hearted  villains.  Holy  Mother  ! save  our  fine  brave 
Catholics  from  them,  for  it’s  you  that  can,  and  I’m  sure  you 
will,  too — well,  come  along,  Mullingar  ! you  or  me  couldn’t  do 
much  till  we  get  something  in  our  bellies — if  we  once  had  that, 
my  good  fellow,  we’ll  have  a chance  at  the  murdering  crew 
yonder — it  will  go  hard  with  us  or  this  good  pike  of  mine  makes 
them  one  the  less,  anyhow !” 

Meanwhile  Owen  Roe  paid  a visit  to  his  grand  stronghold,  to 
wit,  an  old  mill  which  he  had  found  there  in  good  condition,  and 
in  which  he  had  posted  threescore  men,  with  some  pieces  of 
cannon  mounted  on  the  walls.  Standing  on  the  crown  of  a 
gentle  acclivity,  and  rearing  itself  to  a considerable  height, 
the  building  commanded  no  small  portion  of  the  level  country 
a ound,  and  O’Neill’s  skilful  eye  was  not  slow  to  discover  the 
advantage  it  afforded.  He  no  sooner  heard  of  Moore’s  approach 
than  he  placed  the  great  body  of  his  troops  in  a position  which 
concealed  them  from  the  advancing  enemy ; the  mill  and  the 
elevation  on  which  it  stood  being  flanked  by  a grove  of  ancient 
beech  and  sycamore  furnished  an  effectual  screen. 

The  preparations  were  hardly  completed  when  up,  at  a gal- 
lop, came  Lord  Moore  and  his  cavalry,  hastening  on  in  advance 


298 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  the  foot  with  the  eagerness  of  men  sure  of  victory.  The 
mill  and  the  wood  were  before  them,  and  O’Neill’s  defences,  but 
O’Neill’s  men  were  only  visible  in  such  numbers  as  their  wily 
general  chose  to  show. 

“ Victory  will  have  small  merit  here,”  said  Moore  contempt- 
uously, “ a mere  handful  of  Irish  kern.  They  have  garrisoned 
yonder  mill,  I see ! and  breastworks,  forsooth !— on,  on,  men, 
on  ! — we  can  take  that  with  our  broad-swords  !” — and  he  pointed 
with  his  own — “ be  sure  you  let  not  a man  of  them  escape ” 

Still  no  sign  of  life  amongst  the  Irish,  and  on  rode  the  fierce 
Puritan  soldiers,  all  elate  with  the  thought  of  the  utter  extermina- 
tion commanded  by  their  chief,  when  all  at  once  from  the  old 
mill  came  the  thundering  peal  of  artillery,  and  a dense  volume 
of  smoke — a cry  of  horror  from  the  Puritans,  and  the  lifeless 
body  of  their  leader  rolled  from  his  horse  to  the  ground.  A 
cannon-ball  had  pierced  his  stony  heart ; the  Catholics  had  lost 
an  inveterate  foe,  and  the  oppressor  a willing  and  powerful  agent. 

Following  up  their  advantage,  the  Irish  rushed  from  their 
cover,  and  darted,  horse  and  foot,  on  the  panic-stricken  enemy 
with  their  terrible  war-cry : “Larnh  dearg  aboo!”  headed  by 
Owen  Roe  himself,  while  Dillon  and  O’Rourke  made  a detour  on 
either  hand  in'  order  to  cut  off  the  enemy’s  retreat.  Disheart- 
ened by  the  fall  of  their  general,  and  bewildered  by  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  such  a force,  the  Puritans  were  easily 
thrown  into  confusion,  and  turning  the  rein  attempted  to  fly. 
But  the  broad-swords  and  battle-axes  of  the  Irish  were  whirling 
around  them,  and  the  wild  death-shout  rang  ever  in  their  ears : 
“ Death  to  the  black-hearted  stranger !”  and  to  crown  their 
misfortune,  their  own  infantry,  unknowing  what  had  happened, 
now  met  them  in  the  way,  barring  their  onward  progress. 

Lord  Moore  and  his  troopers  had  long  been  the  terror  of  the 
border-country,  and  the  memory  of  many  a bloody  contest,  and 
many  a dismal  scene  of  slaughter,  whetted  the  Confederates’ 
swords  that  day.  Like  a whirlwind  they  rushed  on  the  retreat- 
ing foe,  dealing  death  and  justice  at  every  blow,  until  the  enemy 
were  forced  to  cry  for  quarter,  and  then  Owen  Roe’s  sonorous 
voice  was  heard  above  the  roar  of  battle  commanding  his  people 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


299 


to  desist.  The  work  of  death  was  suddenly  stopped,  and  each 
applied  himself  to  secure  his  prisoners. 

“ Now  God  be  praised !”  cried  Owen  O’Neill,  “ such  a victory 
I did  not  dare  to  hope  for.” 

“ Something  was  telling  me  all  the  time,”  said  the  owner  of 
Mullingar  as  he  leisurely  wiped  his  mouth  on  h’s  jacket  sleeve 
and  mounted  his  four-footed  friend,  “ something  was  telling  me 
we  were  to  have  the  best  of  it  this  time.” 

“And  now  for  Moneke!”  said  Owen  Roe  in  a cheerful  voice 
to  Dillon  on  his  right,  “ I would  he  were  here  while  our  fellows’ 
blood  is  up !” 

But  Moneke  came  not  then  or  again — he  had  heard  of  Lord 
Moore’s  death  and  the  total  route  of  his  forces,  and  he  wisely 
turned  aside  from  O’Neill’s  path,  the  more  willingly  as  his  regi- 
ment was  literally  in  a starving  condition.* 

In  much  the  same  state  was  the  whole  Munster  army  under 
Lord  Inchiquin,  then  Vice-President  of  that  Province.  “ He 
had  received  no  supplies  from  England,  except  a regiment  with- 
out arms,  which  he  thought  were  sent  only  to  accelerate  his 
ruin ; bringing  neither  money,  nor  provision,  nor  even  the 

hopes  of  either thinking,  then,  the  loss  of  the 

Province  to  be  inevitable,  and  fearing  the  ruin  of  many 
thousand  Protestants,  it  was  resolved  in  a council  of  war  to 
cause  the  ships  of  Lord  Forbes’  squadron,  in  the  harbor  of  Kin- 
sale,  to  be  stayed  and  drawn  ashore,  that  they  might  be  ready 

* It  was  about  this  time  that  the  officers  of  the  English  army  in 
Ireland,  being  unable  to  obtain  the  means  of  subsistence  from  the 
Lords  Justices  and  the  Irish  Government,  were  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity  of  want;  wherefore,  says  Warner,  they  made  a second 
application  to  the  Justices  and  Council : and  despairing  of  relief  from 
them,  they  drew  up  at  the  same  time  an  address  to  the  king;  repre- 
senting that  their  case  was  now  become  so  desperate,  through  their 
fruitless  applications  to  the  English  Parliament,  “ that  unless  his 
majesty  should  interpose  they  could  not  discover  anything  that  might 
stand  betwixt  them  and  absolute  destruction.” — Civil  Wars , Book 
IV.,  p.  244. 


300 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


to  receive  and  transport  those  people  to  England,  who  must 
otherwise  have  been  exposed  either  to  the  sword  or  famine.”* 

• The  Confederates,  on  the  other  hand,  were  well  supplied  with 
all  things  needful  for  carrying  on  the  war ; the  booming  of 
O'Neill’s  cannon  all  along  the  borders  of  the  Pale  was  echoed 
back  by  Castlehavqn’s  and  Barry’s  from  the  walls  of  Munster, 
while  the  distant  shores  of  Lough  Corrib  and  Galway  Bay 
resounded  with  the  joyous  cheers  of  Burke’s  all-conquering 
army. 

Things  were  at  this  pass,  and  the  truce  postponed  for  one 
month,  when,  towards  the  end  of  July,  there  appeared  before 
the  Supreme  Council  in  Kilkenny  an  Italian  ecclesiastic,  Sea- 
rampi  by  name,  an  humble  priest  of  the  Oratory,  a thin  spare 
man,  «f  a mild  yet  penetrating  countenance,  and  a small  well- 
formed  head,  bent  slightly  forward,  as  it  were,  from  the  habit  of 
subjection.  There  was  little  to  distinguish  Father  Pietro  Fran- 
cisco from  any  other  member  of  a religious  order,  nor  was  there 
in  his  bearing  aught  that  savored  of  arrogant  pretension,  and 
yet  the  proud  nobles  of  the  Pale  bowed  reverently  before  him, 
and  the  stateliest  prelate  there  addressed  him  in  a tone  of  defer- 
ence. And  why  was  this  7 Why,  because  that  humble  Orato- 
rian  came  to  them  from  the  Court  of  Rome,  bearing  bulls  accord- 
ing a jubilee  and  many  other  spiritual  privileges  to  those  who 
had  taken  up  arms  for  the  faith  in  Ireland. 

“ And  furthermore,”  said  the  reverend  ambassador,  “ our 
Holy  Father,  knowing  that  your  valiant  soldiers  have  also  much 
need  of  carnal  weapons  wherewith  to  combat  the  enemy,  hath, 
of  his  goodness,  and  of  his  own  resources,  sent  you  what  he 
could,  at  this  present,  of  arms  and  ammunition,  the  which, 
being  landed  at  Wexford,  will  be  here  anon,  to  be  distributed  as 
seemctb  good  to  you.” 

The  expression  of  gratitude  on  the  part  of  the  council,  by 
its  venerable  president,  was  abruptly  broken  in  on  by  our  old 
acquaintance,  Tirlogh  O’Neill,  who  was  one  of  the  members. 

“ May  it  please  your  reverence,”  said  he  in  his  blunt  way, 

* Ibid.,  p.  255.  Here  we  see  from  unexceptionable  Protestant  author- 
ity to  what  straits  the  Puritans  were  reduced. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


301 


“ there  is  no  need  to  hurry — the  valiant  soldiers  aforesaid  have 
grown  tired,  it  seems,  of  hard  knocks,  and  must  needs  patch  up 
a peace,  come  what  will  o’t.” 

“What  sayeth  the  noble  Signori’'  demanded  Scarampi  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Dublin. 

The  prelate  explained  in  Latin,  whereupon  Father  Scarampi 
was  much  amazed. 

“ In  that  case,”  said  he,  “ our  reverend  friend,  Luke  Wadding, 
must  have  deceived  his  Holiness,  in  that  he  hath  represented 
your  affairs  as  being  in  such  flourishing  condition  that  but  little 
more  was  needed  to  secure  the  nation’s  independence  and  the 
full  rights  of  our  Holy  Church  in  this  realm  of  Ireland.  I marvel 
much  an’  it  be  so,  for  Luke  hath  been  ever  esteemed  among  us 
a man  of  rare  probity  and  great  wisdom.” 

There  was  a sly  undercurrent  of  humor  in  this  speech,  which 
did  not  escape  the  Irish  members  of  the  council,  such  of  them, 
at  least,  as  understood  the  pure  Roman  Latin,  in  which  it  was 
spoken.  The  truth  was  the  good  Padre  had  heard  of  the  pro- 
posed cessation  on  his  way  from  Wexford  to  Kilkenny,  but  he 
knew  too  little  of  the  state  of  parties  to  comprehend  the  selfish 
motives  of  its  advocates  in  the  council. 

“ Padre  Scarampi,”  said  the  uncompromising  Archbishop  of 
Tuam,  “ Father  Wadding’s  veracity .standeth  unimpeached  in 
this  matter.  God  hath  been  pleased  to  bless  our  arms  in  such 
wise  as,  for  the  time,  may  be  deemed  little  short  of  a miracle. 
Our  armies  are  at  this  hour  in  possession  of  three  provinces,  with 
no  small  share  of  the  fourth — we  have  men,  money  and  arms, 
with  provisions  almost  at  will,  and  have  so  cornered  the  enemy 
everywhere  that  they  scarce  know  which  way  to  turn  them, 
the  while  they  have  grown  so  lean  from  sheer  hunger  that  one 
man  of  ours  is  equal  to  two  or  three  of  them.  I know  not  if 
Ormond  himself  hath  had  a full  meal  of  late.” 

“ My  Lord  Archbishop,”  said  Muskerry  sharply,  “ you  forget 
of  whom  you  speak !” 

“ Surely  no,  my  lord,  surely  no,”  said  the  prelate  with  some 
severity ; “lam  not  oblivious  of  the  respect  due  from  me — from 
all  of  us — to  James  Butler  of  Ormond — and  to  his  friends  in  this 
council!”  he  added  significantly.  Tirlogh  O’Neill  rubbed  his 


302 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


hands  and  chuckled  right  gleefully  while  Mountgarret  and 
Muskerry,  Gormanstown,  and  the  rest  of  that  set,  looked  the 
daggers  which  they  did  not  choose  to  put  in  words. 

“ But  the  peace  1”  inquired  the  Oratorian — “ what  of  the 
peace  1 Your  affairs  being  in  such  fair  condition — you  having 
the  best  of  the  battle,  as  you  say,  wherefore,  in  God’s  name, 
consent  to  a peace  which  must  needs  be  of  advantage  to  your 
enemies,  seeing  that  it  is  they  who  seek  it  V 

The  Archbishop  turned  with  a smile  and  bowed  to  Lord 
Mountgarret  who  had  been  talking  in  a low  earnest  tone  with 
some  of  the  other  lay  peers.  Mustering  as  much  composure  as 
he  could  assume,  the  President  hastened  to  explain  that  the 
country  was  well  nigh  exhausted  by  a two  years’  war,  and  the 
brave  soldiers  of  the  Catholic  armies  stood  in  need  of  rest 

“I  crave  your  lordship’s  pardon,”  said  Philip  O’Reilly,  “but 
I knew  not  before  that  our  soldiers  were  tired  of  the  war.  An’ 
they  had  a voice  in  this  matter,  there  should  be  no  peace  till  we 
had  gained  our  ends  at  the  sword’s  point.  Methinks  Ormond 
himself  could  not  wheedle  them  into  laying  down  their  arms  at 
this  present,  without  good  security  for  the  payment  of  some,  at 
least,  of  the  old  debt.  I pray  your  lordship,  therefore,  not  to 
drag  ‘ our  brave  soldiers’  through  the  mire  which  hath  gathered 
around  this  question.  Say  rather  that  the  bond  of  confedera- 
tion hath  been  found  irksome,  and  that  some  amongst  us  do 
esteem  the  favor  of  my  Lord  Ormond,  and  that  thing  which 
they  call  loyalty  to  the  king’s  majesty,  far  above  the,  interests 
of  our  common  faith  and  the  re-establishment  of  our  long-lost 
rights.” 

This  speech,  bold,  and  manly,  and  straightforward  as  became 
the  O’Reilly,  caused  the  Ormondists  to  wince,  and,  being  inter- 
preted to  the  Pope’s  ambassador,  elicited  from  him  a smile  of 
approbation.  Stranger  as  he  was,  he  quickly  observed  the 
shirking,  temporizing  way  in  which  the  question  of  the  truce 
was  treated  by  the  large  majority  of  the  council,  and  before  he 
quitted  their  presence  that  day,  he  gave  them  plainly  to  under- 
stand what  he  thought  of  the  matter. 

“ In  the  name  of  his  Holiness  Urban  VIII.,”  said  he,  “I  do 
protest  against  this  peace,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  a lasting  peace, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


303 


honorable  to  yourselves  as  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  and  of  solid 
advantage  to  your  Holy  Mother  the  Church,  on  whose  behalf 
you  took  up  arms.  An’  your  grievances  be  not  at  once  reme- 
died, and  your  rights  as  Christians  and  as  freemen  placed  on  a 
firm  basis,  no  peace — no  truce,  say  I — follow  up  your  successes 
by  yet  greater  efforts — Catholic  Europe  will  aid  you,  so  that  you 
shall  want  for  nothing — the  more  you  do,  the  more  will  be  done 
for  you — so  sayeth  the  Father  of  the  faithful,  so  sayeth  your 
trusty  and  approved  friend,  Luke  Wadding — so  say  the  great 
and  the  noble  of  my  own  land,  and  in  proof  thereof,  my  Lord 
Mountgarret,  there  is  the  sum  of  30,000  dollars  received  by 
Father  Wadding  from  certain  of  our  Italian  nobles  towards  de- 
fraying the  expenses  of  this  righteous  war.” 

And  he  placed  on  the  table  the  munificent  contribution  worthy 
the  nobleness  and  generosity  of  those  from  whom  it  came.  Due 
acknowledgments  being  made  on  the  part  of  the  Confederated 
Catholics,  Archbishop  O’ Kelly  requested  the  Padre  to  state 
precisely  the  purpose  for  which  the  money  was  intended. 

“ Otherwise,”  said  he,  “reverend  father,  we  may  have  it  ex- 
pended for  the  purchase  of  a peace — money  is  a rare  commodity 
amongst  our  enemies  in  these  days,  and  even  the  lordly  palm  of 
Ormond  might  not  shrink  from  being  greased  with  Italian  gold 
— an’  he  cajole  our  lords  into  a cessation  of  arms  with  such  odds 
in  our  favor,  he  might  e’en  persuade  them  that  our  money  were 
as  well  vested  in  his  hands — I pray  you  see  to  that,  good  Father  !” 
“ Most  reverend  lord,”  said  Scarampi  in  reply,  “ there  can  be 
no  mistake  regarding  the  intentions  of  the  donors.  We  in 
Italy  heard  much  of  the  extraordinary  efforts  made  by  a brave 
and  faithful  but  impoverished  nation  to  avenge  its  wrongs  and 
recover  its  rights — we  heard  of  the  puissant  valor  of  Owen 
O’Neill,  and  Burke,  and  Barry,  and  many  more,  and  what  things 
they  had  done  on  behalf  of  God’s  people — of  Ormond,  too,  we 
heard,  and  Inchiquin,  and  Broghill,  and  other  great  captains  of 
the  enemy’s  host,  but  as  God  liveth,  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  we 
heard  not  that  any  of  the  gallant  Confederate  Chieftains  had 
opened  their  ears — or  hearts — to  the  poisonous  breath  of  the 
enemy.  We  heard  not,  in  the  halls  of  the  Vatican,  of  truce  or 
treaty  spoken  of  here  in  Ireland — we  heard  only  of  battles  and 


304 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


sieges,  and  the  noise  of  a fierce  struggle,  and  our  hearts  did 
hum,  yea ! even  the  paternal  heart  of  Urban,  to  send  timely 
succor  to  those  who  battled  for  the  right — had  we  heard  of  par- 
leying, and  truce-making,  and  such  like,  methinks  yonder  gold 
were  still  in  the  coffers  of  those  who  sent  it  so  freely.  Pardon 
me,  lords  and  gentlemen,  if  I,  a stranger,  speak  so  plainly  in 
this  matter,  but  standing  here,  as  I do,  to  represent  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  I would  ill  discharge  my  duty  did  I not  enter  my  solemn 
protest  against  a measure  which  I know  would,  if  carried  out, 
undo  much  of  the  glorious  work  already  done.” 

Mountgarret  and  his  friends  excused  themselves  in  the  best 
way  they  could,  with  many  asseverations  of  devotion  to  the 
cause,  assuring  the  Padre  at  the  same  time  that  there  were  two 
sides  to  the  question,  whereas  he  saw  but  one.  They  labored 
hard  to  make  him  understand  the  friendly  dispositions  of  Lord 
Ormond. 

“ As  evinced  by  the  massacre  at  Timolin,”  interrupted  Col- 
onel McMahon,  who  was  also  a member  of  the  Council. 

This  sharp  retort,  duly  interpreted  to  the  Italian  by  one  of 
the  bishops,  so  disconcerted  the  “ peace-cabal”  (as  his  Grace  of 
Tuam  aptly  called  them  in  a whisper),  that  they  knew  not  well 
what  subterfuge  to  have  recourse  to,  and  were  fain  to  adjourn 
till  the  following  day.  A severe  rebuke  was  first  administered 
to  McMahon  for  his  contumacious  language.  The  chieftain  of 
Uriel  bowed  and  smiled,  and  expressed  his  regret  that  he  had 
not  sooner  known  the  close  sympathy  between  the  Marquis  and 
the  honorable  Council.  It  was  worth  something,  however,  to 
know  it  even  then. 

The  strenuous  opposition  of  the  Pope’s  jambassador,  the  biting 
sarcasms  of  the  Irish  chieftains,  and  the  avowed  displeasure  of 
the  bishops,  had  all  and  each  their  effect  on  the  time-serving 
lords  of  the  Pale  and  their  adherents  in  the  council.  Anxious 
to  oblige  Lord  Ormond,  and  to  obtain  peace  on  any  terms,  they 
yet  shrank  from  the  formidable  array  of  the  opposition,  strength- 
ened by  the  earnest  expostulation  of  Owen  Roe,  wrho,  unable  to 
leave  his  post  on  the  borders,  forwarded  his  views  to  the  council, 
couched  in  language  rather  strong  for  their  liking.  It  was  at 
this  juncture  that  Lord  Castlehaven  arrived  in  Kilkenny,  post- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


305 


haste  from  the  South.  He  had  heard  of  the  proposed  truce 
while  enjoying  a brief  interval  of  rest  at  his  brother's  house, 
and  lost  no  time  in  appearing  before  the  council  with  all  the 
leading  members  of  the  Ormond  party  whom  he  could  find  in 
town.*  Brave  soldier  as  he  was,  and  successful  general,  Cas- 
tleliaven  was  already  tired  of  the  war,  and  that  because  his  heart 
had  never  been  with  the  Confederates.  He  was  driven  into  their 
ranks  by  the  cruel  injustice  of  the  government  affecting  himself 
personally,  and,  strongly  imbued  with  a contemptuous  dislike 
of  the  old  Irish,  he  never  could,  or  never  did,  completely  identify 
himself  with  them  in  the  quarrel.  If  he  fought,  it  was  for  his 
own  reputation,  and  to  gratify  the  inordinate  self-conceit  which 
was  one  of  his  most  prominent  characteristics.  Cherishing  a 
profound  respect  for  Ormond,  it  was  never  with  his  will  he  had 
drawn  the  sword  against  him,  and  looked  eagerly  for  an  oppor- 
tunity of  ingratiating  himself  once  more  with  that  powerful 
nobleman. 

Taking  with  him,  then,  Sir  Richard  Barnewell,  Sir  Robert 
Talbot,  Colonel  Bagnell,  “ and  such  others  as  were  in  town  well 
affected,  and  leading  men  in  the  Assembly,  though  not  of  the 
Council,”  his  volatile  lordship  entered  the  hall  where  the  council 
was  sitting,  having  first  agreed  with  his  “ well-affected”  friends 
that  “ if  they  would  stick  to  him  he  would  give  tne  matter  such 
a turn”  as  would  serve  them  all,*f-  to  wit,  carry  out  Ormond’s 
politic  designs  to  the  satisfaction  of  that  nobleman,  and  thus 
secure  his  favor. 

This  unexpected  reinforcement  so  strengthened  the  hands  of 
Mountgarret,  Muskerry,  and  the  other  Ormondists,  that  they 
immediately  assumed  a high  tone  and  frowned  down  all  attempts 
at  opposition.  Even  the  honest  and  conscientious  efforts  of 
Scarampi,  backed  by  the  expressed  wishes  of  the  Pope,  sank 
into  insignificance  before  the  supercilious  airs  of  Casllehaven 
with  the  prestige  of  victory  around  him. 

It  was  not  without  a hard  struggle  that  Scarampi,  the  bishops 
and  the  chiefs,  were  defeated.  Defeated,  however,  they  were, 
owing  to  the  overwhelming  majority  of  Ormond’s  friends  (many 


* See  his  Memoirs , p.  41. 


t Memoirs , p 41. 


306 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  them  his  near  relations)  in  the  council.  In  the  last  stormy 
debate,  Castlehaven,  irritated  by  the  firm  resistance  of  the  clergy 
and  their  adherents,  was  heard  to  mutter  between  his  teeth  a 
bitter  invective  against  “ such  turbulent  and  factious  opposition.” 

This  roused  the  ire  of  the  native  chieftains,  several  of  whom 
were  on  their  feet  in  a moment. 

“Ah,  Touchet!  Touchet!*  it’s  in  you  for  the  taking  out !” 
cried  Tirlogh  O’Neill,  shaking  his  clenched  fist  at  him  ; “ this 
comes  of  your  underhand  dealings  with — you  know  who!” 

“ Master  Tirlogh  O’Neill,”  said  the  haughty  peer  with  a 
withering  smile,  “ I must  decline  noticing  such  scurrilous  re- 
marks applied  to  myself — it  may  not  be  amiss  to  inform  you, 
natheless,  that  there  be  some  of  our  noisiest  patriots — mayhap 
near  akin  to  yourself — whose  ‘ underhand  dealings’  are  none 
the  safer  to  the  Confederates  that  they  be  with  one  of  your  own 
generals — nor  spite  nor  envy  hath  aught  to  do  with  my  rela- 
tions to  the  cause — hear  you  that,  Tirlogh  O’Neill 

The  brother  of  Sir  Phelim  could  not  but  feel  this  home- 
thrust,  for  the  fact  of  that  chieftain’s  intriguing  with  Preston 
against  Owen  Roe  was  pat*  lit  to  all  the  army.  As  a match  to 
a mine  was  the  effect  of  Castlehaven’s  taunt  on  his  irrascible 
temper,  and  he  flew  at  once  into  such  a passion  that  nothing 
but  the  interference  of  the  venerable  primate,  nis  own  kinsman, 
could  have  kept  him  from  drawing  his  sword  on  the  spot  to 
chastise  the  insolent  offender  whose  provoking  coolness  and 
indifference  exasperated  him  still  the  more.  Finding  that  Tir- 
logh would  not  listen  to  reason  even  from  him,  the  Archbishop 
took  him  gently  by  the  arm  and  led  him  from  the  hall,  under 
pretence  of  saying  a word  to  him  in  private.  The  “ word”  kept 
him  all  that  day  to  say,  for  neither  Tirlogh  nor  his  Grace  of 
Armagh  again  appeared. 

Little  did  Castiehaven  heed  poor  Tirlogh’s  honest,  blustering 
anger:  he  and  his  “ well-affected’’  friends  had  carried,  or  were 
about  to  carry,  their  point,  the  clergy  and  the  “ turbulent  old 
Irish,”  notwithstanding.  O’Neills  and  O’Reillys,  McMahons  and 
0 Rourkes,  and  all  the  other  “ outside  barbarians,”  might  storm 


* Tho  family  name  of  the  Eail. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


307 


and  rage  for  all  he  cared — Ormond’s  good-will  once  secured, 
and  peace  established  for  a whole  year,  there  was  no  knowing 
what  lucky  chance  might  turn  up  in  the  interim  to  put  a total  stop 
to  the  war.  Truly  “ a consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.’* 
As  for  the  money  sent  by  the  Pope  and  other  friendly  princes, 
it  would,  in  the  event  of  a lasting  peace,  be  found  extremely 
useful  in  defraying  the  expenses  of  the  king’s  struggle  with  his 
rebellious  subjects  of  England  and  Scotland.  Little  knew  the 
learned  Oratorian  what  was  passing  beneath  the  smiling  exte- 
rior of  the  lay  lords  and  councillors,  least  of  all  what  specula- 
tions they  had  with  regard  to  the  money  and  other  supplies 
brought  by  him.  He  could  not  approve  of  the  men’s  acts,  but 
neither  could  he  suspect  the  extent  of  their  selfishness,  or  how 
devoted  they  were  at  heart  to  the  most  dangerous  enemy  of 
their  sacred  cause. 

What  little  effect  the  presence  and  the  remonstrances  of  the 
Pope’s  agent  had  on  the  narrow,  selfish  policy  of  the  Anglo-Irish 
councillors,  will  be  best  understood  by  wThat  we  are  about  to 
relate. 

About  the  middle  of  September,  that  is  to  say,  some  weeks 
after  the  arrival  of  Padre  Scarampi  in  Kilkenny,  Lord  Ormond 
sat  in  his  tent  one  day  where  his  army  was  encamped  in  the 
vicinity  of  Naas.  The  curtains  of  the  tent  wrere  drawn  back, 
giving  a view  of  the  ancient  town,  and  Strafford’s  unfinished 
Castle  of  Jigginstown,  even  then  falling  into  decay,*  with  many 
a mile  of  rich  champaign  country,  all  gilt  and  beautified  by  the 
mellow  rays  of  the  autumnal  sun  shining  down  in  midday  glory. 
But  dearer  than  all  this  to  Ormond’s  eye  was  the  group  of  gen- 
tlemen, some  of  them  of  right  noble  mien,  standing,  hat  in  hand, 
before  the  tent  with  a most  submissive  and  deferential  air,  not 
unlike  to  that  usually  seen  on  the  faces  of  juvenile  offenders, 
when,  smarting  from  parental  blows,  they  present  themselves 
for  pardon,  with  a promise  “ never  to  do  the  like  again.” 

* “Jigginstown  Castle,”  says  the  Parliamentary  Gazetteer  of 
Ireland,  “ situate  in  the  southwestern  environs  of  the  town  of  Naas, 
was  commenced  on  an  enormous  scale  by  the  unfortunate  Earl  of 
Strafford,  Lord  Lieu'enant  of  Ireland  in  the  reign  of  Charle*  I ; its 
ruins  now  form  a singular  and  striking  object.” 


308 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


As  though  to  mark  his  insolent  contempt  of  the  supplicants, 
the  Marquis,  forgetful  of  that  high-bred  courtesy  for  which  he 
was  famed,  kept  his  seat  while  the  others  all  stood,  and,  like 
Fitz- James  in  Scottish  song,  he 

“ alone  wore  hat  and  plume.” 

Grander  and  prouder  even  than  his  wont,  he  seemed  to  look 
down  from  a lofty  eminence  on  those  who  stood  there  waiting 
his  pleasure,  and  well  he  might,  for  the  realm  of  Ireland  con- 
tained not  any  men  that  day  more  worthy  of  contempt  than 
they,  although  one  of  them  was  Lord  Muskerry,  the  Marquis’ 
own  brother-in-law,  and  the  others  were  all  of  rank  only  second 
to  his  own.  They  were  there  as  commissioners  from  the  Su- 
preme Council  of  the  Confederates,  to  sign  the  articles  of  peace, 
and  Ormond  treated  them  in  every  respect  as  abject  petitioners. 

There  was  Muskerry — alas ! how  fallen  from  the  position  he 
occupied  on  that  memorable  day  when  he  took  the  oath  of  con- 
federation before  the  altar  of  old  St.  Canice,  with  the  banner  of 
the  MacCarthys  waving  above  him — there  was  Dillon — not  Sir 
James,  the  friend  of  O’More,  but  a very  different  man,  Sir  Lucas 
of  that  name — there  was  Talbot  of  Malahide,  just  where  he 
ought  to  be,  bartering  away  the  proud  independence  which 
O’Neill,  and  Burke,  and  Barry  had  won  for  his  fellow-Catholics — 
there  was  Barnewell,  and  Neale,  and  Brown,  a d Walsh,  and 
Plunket,  and,  shame  to  tell ! there  was  Magennis — happily  not 
the  Lord  of  Iveagh,  the  gallant  Sir  Con,  but  a certain  Ileber 
Magennis , a kinsman  of  that  chieftain.  The  half  English 
McCarthy,*  and  this  degenerate  scion  of  the  house  of  Iveagh 
were  the  only  men  of  the  nine  commissioners  who  had  Irish 
blood  in  their  veins,  and  assuredly  though  their  blood  was  Irish 
their  hearts  were  not. 

With  an  air  of  supreme  condescension  the  stately  Marquis 
complimented  the  commissioners  on  the  loyal  and  commendable 
act  just  consummated,  the  which  indicated  a returning  sense  of 
duty  on  the  part  of  “ the  rebels.” 

* This  time-serving  Lord  Muskerry  was  afterwards  rewarded  for 
his  betrayal  of  Catholic  interests  with  the  title  of  Earl  of  Clancarthy. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


309 


“ Rebels,  my  lord  7”  said  Muskerry  with  some  warmth  ; “ I 
pray  you  recall  the  word,  for  you  cannot  but  know  that  the 
King’s  highness  hath  no  truer  subjects  than  the  Confederate 
Catholics  of  Ireland !” 

“Well,  well!”  said  Ormond  with  a satirical  smile,  “an’  it 
please  your  lordship  better  we  will  say  Confederates — good  men 
and  true  no  doubt  are  ye  all” — and  he  laughed  a strange  inward 
laugh — “ in  this  thing  have  ye  done  well,  and  no  doubt  his  Grace 
will  make  all  things  so  smooth  during  this  year’s  cessation  of 
arms  that  even  the  pestilent  rebel,  O'Neill,  and  the  rest  of  the 
Irishry,  will  have  no  rag  of  pretence  for  renewing  hostilities.” 

“Irishry,  my  Lord  Marquis !”  repeated  Muskerry  again  with  a 
heightened  color,  while  Magennis  made  a step  in  advance  as 
though  half  resolved  to  venture  on  a word  of  expostulation— 
his  courage,  however,  failed  him  as  he  glanced  timidly  at  the 
frowning  brow  of  Ormond,  and  he  quietly  slunk  back  into  his 
place. 

“ Another  slip  of  the  tongue,”  said  the  Marquis  in  a jeering 
tone ; “ I pray  you,  good  Donogh  ! be  not  so  shai’p — between 
friends  such  mistakes  go  for  nothing.  This  cessation  which  I 
have  yielded  to  * your  necessities,  ought,  more  than  all,  to  con- 
vince you  of  my  good  will.” 

“ Pardon  me,  my  lord,”  put  in  Dillon,  “ our  necessities  are 
not  so  great — an’  necessities  be  in  the  way,  they  are  not  on  our 
side.” 

“ Pooh  ! pooh  !”  said  the  Marquis  with  a wTell-feigned  air  of 
incredulity,  “ tell  that  to  others  knowing  less  than  I do  of  your 
affairs ” 

“ I do  assure  your  lordship,”  began  Muskerry,  but  Ormond 
stopped  him  with  a majestic  wave  of  the  hand,  and  a smile  that 
was  half  pity,  half  scorn.  Rising  from  his  seat  he  summoned 
some  officers  of  his  staff  who  stood  backwards  in  the  tent,  and 
bowed  the  Confederate  delegates  out  with  much  apparent  cour- 
tesy but  real  disdain. 

“ But,  my  lord,”  said  Muskerry,  sorely  nettled  by  such  cava- 
lier treatment,  “ my  lord,  we  would  have  a word  with  you  con- 
cerning that  matter  of  the  dissolution,  seeing  that  we  of  the 
Confederation  do  hold  the  present  parliament  illegal,  as  you 


310 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


well  know,  and  that  point  hath  not  been  settled  to  our  lik- 
ing.’’* 

“ An’  it  he  not  in  the  articles,  brother  mine,  it  is  beyond  my 
power  to  arrange  it  now.’’ 

“But  we  understood ” 

“It  matters  little,  Donogh,  what  you  or  I understood — the 
articles  of  treaty  are  now  signed  and  otherwise  perfected — leave 
that  matter  of  the  parliament  to  the  king’s  majesty,  as  be- 
cometh  loyal  and  well-affected  subjects.” 

So  saying  he  withdrew  with  his  officers  into  the  inner  com- 
partment of  his  tent,  and  the  commissioners  were  fain  to  take 
their  way  back  to  Kilkenny,  more  dissatisfied,  all  of  them,  than 
they  were  willing  to  own  to  each  other. 

* “ Before  the  ink  in  which  it  (the  treaty)  was  written  dried  the 
Confederate  commissioners  discovered  that  Ormond  had  no  notion  of 
calling  a new  parliament,  although  be  knew  that  the  present  one  was 
irregular  and  illegal.” — Meehan,  quoting  Carte,  iii.,  430. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


311 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


“ Ah,  God  ! that  ghastly  gibbet! 

How  dismal  ’tis  to  see 
The  great  fall  spectral  skeleton 

The  ladder  and  the  tree  !’’ 

* * * # 

“ He  is  coming  ! he  is  coming  ! 

Like  a bridegroom  from  his  room, 

Came  the  hero  from  his  prison 
To  the  scaffold  and  the  doom.” 

* * * * 

“ There  was  color  in  his  visage, 

Tho’  the  cheeks  of  all  were  wan, 

And  they  marvell’d  is  they  saw  him  pass, 

That  great  and  goodly  man.” 

“ 'The  grim  Geneva  ministers, 

With  anxious  scowl  drew  near, 

As  you  have  seen  the  ravens  flock 
Around  the  djing  deer. 

He  would  not  deign  them  word  nor  sign, 

But  alone  he  bent  the  knee  ! 

And  veil’d  his  face  for  Christ’s  dear  grace 
Beneath  tbe  gallows-tree.” 

Aynton’s  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers — 

Execution  of  Montrose. 


When  the  Catholic  Commissioners  were,  after  many  week’s 
detention  of  their  Remonstrance  in  Dublin,  permitted  at  length 
to  proceed  to  England  to  lay  it  before  the  King,  his  Majesty 
received  them  graciously,  and  after  hearing  what  they  had  to 
say,  and  promising  to  consider  the  statement  of  grievances  put 
forth  in  the  Trim  document,  he  sent  them  hack  with  an  urgent 
request  to  Ormond  to  settle  the  difficulty  with  the  Confederate 
Catholics  as  soon  as  might  be.  Sorely  pressed  even  then  by  the 
rebellious  armies  of  his  Puritan  parliament,  he  turned  with  long- 
ing eyes  to  the  victorious  Catholics  of  Ireland,  who  could  alone 
give  him  permanent  and  effective  succor.  This  he  represented 
to  Ormond  again  and  again  in  his  private  dispatches,  although 
publicly  he  was  still  constrained  to  censure  their  acts,  and 


312 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


speak  of  them  in  the  cant  phraseology  of  the  day  as  “pestifer- 
ous rebels.” 

When  the  Commissioners  returned  to  Ireland  their  party  was 
increased  by  a young  Protestant  lady  of  rank,  who  had  been 
staying  with  some  relations  in  London,  and  was  now  going  back 
to  her  Irish  home  furnished  with  a pass  for  herself  and  her 
servant,  an  aged  man  who  looked  as  though  he  might  have 
served  the  lady’s  grandsire  in  a by-gone  age.  It  was  not  with 
the  consent  of  her  English  friends  that  our  adventurous  fair  one 
placed  herself  under  the  protection  of  the  Catholic  gentlemen, 
but  having  known  Sir  Robert  Talbot  and  one  or  two  others  of 
their  number  in  former  days  in  Dublin,  she  declared  herself 
quite  willing  to  travel  in  their  company.  Such  opportunities 
being  few  at  that  day,  and  her  mother  at  home  being  impatient 
for  her  return,  she  would  not  hear  of  postponing  her  departure. 

The  displeasure  of  the  young  lady’s  godly  relatives  would 
have  been  much  increased  had  they  known  that  on  the  day 
preceding  their  departure,  she  was  closetted  with  Lord  Mus- 
kerry,  the  head  of  the  deputation,  for  full  half  an  hour.  What 
the  nature  of  their  conference  was  may  be  gathered  from  the 
parting  words  which  passed  between  the  Viscount  and  Emmeline 
Coote,  for  she  it  was,  as  the  reader  has  probably  guessed. 

“ Fair  Mistress  Coote,”  said  he,  “ I fear  you  will  bring  griev- 
ous trouble  on  yourself  by  journeying  homewards  in  our  com- 
pany. Your  brothers  will  by  no  means  overlook  such  an  offence 
against  Puritan  notions  of  fitness.” 

“ Nay,  my  good  lord,  after  what  I have  disclosed  to  you, 
wherefore  speak  to  me  of  such  matters  1 One  who  hath  devoted 
her  life  to  the  attainment  of  an  object,  can  think  of  no  danger, 
no  inconvenience  that  regardeth  only  herself.  But  you  really 
•deem  it  unsafe  for  them  to  join  your  retinue  V1 

“ It  were  certain  destruction  to  them,  my  good  young  lady, 
and  most  like  to  us,  one  and  all.” 

“ Then  you  refuse  giving  them  this  chancel” 

“ With  reluctance  I must — we  have  passports  but  for  a certain 
number ” 

“ Leave  two  of  your  servants  behind.” 

Muskerry  shook  his  head.  “ It  were  useless,  fair  mistress, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


313 


worse  than  useless — the  personal  description  of  your  friends  is 
too  well  known — they  could  not  escape  in  broad  day.” 

“ My  friends!”  repeated  Emmeline  with  rising  anger,  for  she 
saw  and  despised  the  pusillanimous  fears  of  Muskerry.  “ Me- 
thinks,  Lord  Muskerry,  they  might  well  be  your  friends. 
However,  I will  press  you  no  more — the  God  who  released  them 
from  their  dungeon  will  provide  them  with  the  means  of  escape. 
I will  go  to  Ireland,  as  I purposed,  but  solely  with  a view  to 
their  interest — to  apprise  their  true  friends  of  how  they  be 
situated,  and  move  them  to  devise  some  plan  for  their  de- 
liverance.” , 

It  was  a sorrowful  parting  when  Emmeline  and  old  Lorcan 
came  to  take  leave  of  the  two  poor  captives,  virtually  as  much 
so  as  when  the  walls  of  the  Tower  lay  between  them  and  free- 
dom. Bitter  was  their  indignation  when  they  heard  of  Musker- 
ry’s  cold  indifference,  so  little  to  be  expected  from  a chief  of 
the  Confederates.  Had  they  been  better  acquainted  with  the 
respective  attitudes  of  the  “ old”  and  “ new  Irish”  at  that  time, 
their  surprise  and  disappointment  would  have  been  less,  but 
knowing  nothing  of  the  internal  workings  of  the  Confederation, 
they  had  thought  in  their  simplicity  that  no  sworn  member  of 
that  body  could  fail  to  sympathize  with  them,  or  to  lay  hold  of 
even  the  slightest  chance  of  forwarding  their  escape.  McMahon, 
as  usual,  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  saying  that  they  would  be  even 
with  his  lordship  ere  long,  but  Maguire  could  not  conceal  his 
dejection,  and  when  the  final  moment  came  he  trembled  like  an 
aspen  leaf.  In  vain  did  Emmeline  conceal  her  own  emotion  to 
speak  to  him  of  bright  days  to  come — in  vain  did  his  brave  old 
uncle  assure  him  that  it  would  go  hard  with  the  Maguires  and 
McMahons  (were  there  none  but  they)  an’  they  devised  not 
some  plan  to  convey  the  two  safely  to  Ireland — “ and  then, 
Connor,  my  son,”  said  the  veteran  warrior,  “ and  then — you  and 
Costelloe  here  will  be  in  for  the  best  of  the  sport — the  best  is 
all  to  come,  and  you’ll  meet  the  bloody  villains  with  the  red 
sword  of  vengeance  in  your  hand — son  of  my  heart,  you  will !’» 
Poor  Connor  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  then  in  silence  they  all 
parted — some  in  hope,  some  in  fear,  all  in  sorrow. 

F or  some  days  after  the  departure  of  their  best  friends,  Ma- 
li 


314 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


guire  and  McMahon  were  more  or  less  buoyed  up  with  the  hope 
of  a speedy  opportunity  of  returning  to  Ireland.  Days  past 
away,  however,  and  weeks,  too,  and  still  no  nearer  prospect  of 
escape,  no  message,  no  word  of  hope  from  home.  Shifting  about 
from  place  to  place  amongst  the  few  faithful  Catholics  who  were 
cognizant  of  their  condition,  continually  in  dread  of  detection, 
and  lamenting  the  risk  incurred  by  those  who  sheltered  them, 
their  life  was  as  wretched  as  could  well  be  imagined.  The  only 
comfort  they  had  was  in  being  together,  for  the  load  of  misery 
shared  between  them  was  less  intolerable,  and  when  they  talked 
of  the  glorious,  struggle  going  on  at  home,  and  cheered  each 
other  with  the  hope  of  yet  girding  on  the  sword  and  taking  their 
rightful  place  in  the  van  of  Ulster’s  chivalry,  then  the  grim, 
ugly  present  faded  from  their  view  and  they  lived  for  a while  in 
a brilliant,  stirring,  dashing  future — alas  ! never,  never  to  dbe 
theirs ! 

One  dark  October  night,  as  the  story  goes,  when  our  fugitives 
were  once  more  a-hide  in  Smithson’s  house  in  Drury  lane,  Mc- 
Mahon, contrary  to  the  advice  of  his  more  timorous  friend,  put 
his  head  out  of  the  window  to  hail  an  oyster-wench  whose  sten- 
torian lungs  were  waking  the  echoes  of  the  half-deserted  streets 
in  the  vicinity.  Responsive  to  the  call,  the  woman  approached 
the  window,  the  oysters  were  bought  and  paid  for,  and  still  no 
appearance  of  Maguire’s  fears  being  justified.  No  look  of  sur- 
prise, no  word  of  recognition  escaped  the  dame  as  she  stood 
without  in  the  dim  light  of  a flickering  oil-lamp  a few  yards  dis- 
tant. She  even  cracked  a rude  joke,  as  her  money  was  told  out, 
touching  the  fattening  nature  of  her  oysters,  in  allusion  to  poor 
Costelloe’s  haggard  face,  looking  the  while  as  stolid  as  a circus- 
clown. 

No  sooner,  however,  was  the  pale  handsome  face  withdrawn, 
and  the  window  closed,  than  the  Englishwoman  planted  her  dis- 
engaged arm  a-kimbo,  and  said  to  herself  with  a low  exulting 
laugh  : “ My  fortune  is  made  now  anyhow — as  sure  as  my  name 
is  Betsy  Brigg  that  ’ere  chap  is  one  of  them  Hirish  traitors  as 
escaped  from  the  Tower.  Step  out  now,  Betsy,  lass  ! an’  it  be 
so,  thou  may’st  fling  thy  basket  into  the  moat !” 

Hours  before  the  wintry  sun  shone  out  through  the  fogs  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


315 


London,  Connor  Maguire  and  Costelloe  McMahon  were  again 
in  the  hands  of  the  pious  Master  Conyers,  and  Betsy  Brigg  was 
the  richer  for  that  night’s  work  by  a thousand  marks. 

“ Now,  God  have  mercy  on  our  souls!”  whispered  McMahon 
in  Irish,  as  the  officers  dragged  the  luckless  prisoners  down  the 
narrow  stair-way ; “ it  is  all  over  with  us,  friend  of  my  heart !” 

“ Don’t  say  that,  Costelloe !”  returned  Maguire  in  a voice  of 
terror;  “ don’t  say  it  is  all  over — God  is  good  !” 

“ I know  that,  Connor, — I know  He  will  be  good  to  our  poor 
souls, — but,  depend  on  it,  He  hath  delivered  our  bodies  to  the 
will  of  the  enemy  ! Ha!  you  base-born  churl!” — in  English  to 
one  of  the  constables  who  had  given  him  a crack  over  the 
shoulders  to  hurry  him  on — “ you  had  not  dared  to  do  so  were  it 
not  for  these  fetters  ! Ay  ! do  your  worst — the  nobleness  of  our 
blood  though  it  move  not  your  pity,  doth  raise  us  above  com- 
plaint ! Have  courage,  my  poor  friend,  my  more  than  brother  !” 
Maguire  could  not  answer : stunned  by  the  crushing  blow 
which  had  in  an  instant,  as  it  were,  annihilated  all  their  hopes, 
he  gave  himself  up  to  despair.  J ust  as  they  were  parting,  how- 
ever, at  the  inner  gate  of  the  Tower,  he  called  out,  as  if  by  a 
spasmodic  effort-- 

“ Pray  for  me,  McMahon,  as  I will  for  you !” 

“I  will,  Connor,  I will! — if  we  meet  no  more  in  this  world, 
farewell ! — God  be  with  you  ! By  our  Lady,  our  death  wil 
make  somewhat  of  a stir  at  home — metliinks  Uriel  and  Ferma- 
nagh will  be  in  the  van  when  the  red  day  of  vengeance  cometh !” 
He  was  silenced  by  a blow  on  the  mouth  from  the  mailed  hand 
of  an  official.  Oh  ! the  torture  of  that  moment  when  the  proud 
McMahon  could  only  chastise  the  wretch  by  a look,  hand  and 
loot  were  both  fettered!  But  such  a look  was  that,  so  scathing 
in  its  concentrated  fire,  that  the  cowardly  caitiff  slunk  away 
behind  his  fellows,  unwilling  to  encounter  that  withering  eye 
again. 

A few  weeks  after  that,  the  prisoners  were  brought  to  trial, 
and  poor  McMahon,  convicted  of  the  deadly  crime  of  “ Papistry” 
and  with  the  lesser  one  of  “ wickedly  conspiring  against  the 
peace  of  the  realm,”  was  sentenced  to  be  “hanged,  drawn,  and 
quartered”  on  the  hill  of  Tyburn. 


316 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Right  nobly  did  the  Tanist  of  Uriel  bear  himself  daring  the 
mockery  of  a trial,  and  when  the  judge  asked  him  as  usual 
what  he  had  to  say  why  sentence  of  death  Should  not  be  passed 
upon  him,  he  smiled  with  bitter  scorn  and  replied : 

“ Nought  have  I to  say  to  you! — to  the  Judge  of  judges  I 
answer  for  my  acts ! He  knoweth  and  seeth  all,  and  He  will 
avenge  me  and  mine  in  the  latter  day — I am,  by  God’s  mercy, 
a Roman  Catholic,  unworthy  though  I be  of  the  name,  and  I 
did  desire  to  see  my  country  freed — these  be  my  offences — of 
these  I am  guilty — proceed  then  to  judgment!” 

“Had  you,  or  had  you  not,  a commission  to  levy  war  against 
the  lawful  authority  of  these  realms  1 — answer  truly  as  you 
hope  for  mercy !” 

Again  the  scornful  smile  lit  up  the  shrunken  features  of  poor 
Costelloe  : “ Mercy ! I look  not  for  mercy  at  the  hands  of  Eng- 
lish judges  other  than  the  mercy  shown  to  my  fathers  in  times 
past,  but  on  the  faith  of  an  Irish  gentleman  I know  of  no  com- 
mission— heard  of  no  commission  save  in  your  questioning. 
This  I said  on  the  rack  in  Dublin,  this  say  I now  before  a hos- 
tile court.  Though  King  Charles  hath  not  dealt  fairly  by  us 
Catholics,  yet  will  I not  wrong  him — God  save  the  king  from 
the  hands  of  his  enemies — we  owe  him  no  thanks,  but  wTe  know 
him  for  our  true  and  lawful  sovereign,  and  will  not  belie  him 
— God  forbid!  I say  again,  proceed  to  judgment — I would 
know  the  worst  at  once.” 

The  worst  was  soon  known,  and  McMahon  heard  the  iniquitous 
sentence  without  the  slightest  change  of  countenance.  A shade 
paler  he  might  have  grown  as  he  listened,  but  nor  look  nor  word 
betrayed  any  emotion  of  fear.  Cold  and  calm  he  was,  and  his 
blue  eyes  wandered  with  a strangely  indifferent  look  over  the 
grim  array  of  scowling  faces  before,  and  above,  and  around  him. 

“ Hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered !”  he  repeated  slowly,  as 
though  to  himself.  “ It  is  well — the  manner  of  my  death  surely 
is  not  over  creditable — but  the  shame  is  with  them — not  with 
me ! My  soul  to  God,”  he  said  in  a loud  clear  voice,  “ my  cause 
to  the  Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland  ! — Heaven  prosper  their 
righteous  efforts ! — May  I have  a priest  to  prepare  me  for  death  V* 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


317 


“ Surely  no — it  were  the  worst  cruelty  to  grant  you  such  a 
boon.” 

“ Then  God  himself  will  be  my  priest !”  and  nothing  more  did 
McMahon  say.  He  was  taken  some  days  after  to  Tyburn  and 
executed  according  to  the  sentence,  maintaining  to  the  last  the 
same  bold  and  fearless  spirit  that  had  marked  him  through  life 
— the  hand  that  had  made  grotesque  sketches  on  Borlase’s 
walls,  while  awaiting  his  first  trial,  never  trembled  on  the  gallows 
when  the  hangman  stood  by  McMahon’s  side,  and  a brutal, 
pitiless  mob  gazed  up  with  eager  eyes,  curious  to  see  how  an 
Irish  rebel  died. 

Poor  Costelloe  McMahon  ! bold,  brave,  light-hearted  Costelloe 
McMahon ! he  died  as  became  his  high  lineage  and  the  noble 
cause  for  which  he  so  freely  gave  his  life.  He  died  as  became 
a Catholic  cavalier,  rejecting  with  scorn  the  offer  of  a minister 
to  pray  with  him — 

“ A beam  of  light  fell  o’er  him, 

Like  a glory  round  ’he  shriven, 

And  he  climb’d  the  lofty  ladder, 

As  it  were  the  path  to  heaven  !” 

Signing  himself  with  the  cross  on  forehead,  lip  and  breast,  he 
bent  his  head  a moment  and  clasped  his  hands,  then  made  a sign 
to  the  hangman  and  was  speedily  launched  into  eternity,  while 
the  crowd  below,  wondering  at  such  marvellous  fortitude  and 
resignation,  forbore  to  hoot  or  revile,  as  was  their  wont  when 
Papists  were  executed. 

And  how  was  it  with  Lord  Maguire  while  his  companion  in 
misfortune  was  thus  expiating  on  the  gallows  the  enormous 
crime  of  being  a Catholic  and  a lover  of  his  country  'l 

Maguire,  after  all,  was  not  so  easily  disposed  of  as  his  friend, 
notwithstanding  his  want  of  that  physical  energy,  and  that  exu- 
berant flow  of  spirits  which  were  characteristic  of  poor  McMa- 
hon. It  so  happened,  then,  that  Connor  Maguire,  Lord  Ennis- 
killen, being  placed  at  the  bar,  did  most  unreasonably  and 
unexpectedly  protest  against  any  such  trial,  demanding  to  be 
tried  by  his  peers  in  Ireland,  inasmuch  as  a baron  of  that  king- 
dom could  not  lawfully  be  tried  in  an  English  court  of  law. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  judges,  and  great,  too,  was  their 


318 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


disappointment,  for  they  had  humanely  counted  on  making  short 
work  of  the  two  “ pestiferous  Papists,”  never  thinking,  in  their 
sweet  simplicity,  that  an  Irish  peer  would  dare  to  claim  the 
prerogative  due  to  his  class.  The  plea  was,  however,  unan- 
swerable, at  least  for  the  time,  and  so  the  judges  were  forced  to 
remand  the  prisoner  to  his  dungeon.  Poor  Connor  ! he  naturally 
supposed  he  had  gained  an  advantage,  seeing  that  a trial  in  Dub- 
lin might  give  him  some  chance  for  life,  and  straightway  hope 
began  to  revive,  and  gleams,  faint  and  far,  shed  a dim  light  on 
the  dreary  darkness  of  his  soul.  The  fate  of  his  companion  was 
well  known  to  him,  for  his  tyrants  took  care  that  he  should  know 
it,  and  knowing,  see  in  it  the  consummation  of  his  own  suffer- 
ings. Under  other  circumstances  he  would  have  been  inconsol- 
able for  Costelloe’s  melancholy  end,  for  the  friendship  from 
boyhood  existing  between  them  had  been  fostered  by  commu- 
nity of  suffering  and  misfortune  into  more  than  brotherly  love  : 
now  he  almost  envied  his  fate,  in  that  the  ghastly  death-scene 
was  over,  and  all  the  honors  of  suspense  and  bodily  fear,  and 
the  thousand,  thousand  tortures  of  their  hard  captivity.  And 
then  he  thought  of  Emmeline,  and  how  she  would  feel  on  hear- 
ing of  his  being  re-captured,  and  he  wondered  whether  there 
was  still  any  possibility  of  her  being  able  to  assist  him,  and  hope 
whispered  faint  and  low  that  there  was  still  a chance,  and  Con- 
nor listened  to  the  beguiling  voice  until  he  half  believed  its 
“ flattering  tale.”  If  he  could  only  have  his  trial  take  place  in 
Dublin  before  the  peers,  many  of  whom  had  been  his  own  friends 
and  associates  in  former  days — surely — surely  he  might  expect 
a measure  of  justice  at  their  hands  which  in  that  Puritan  Eng- 
lish court  was  beyond  the  range  of  probability. 

In  the  most  fearful  of  all  suspense,  with  the  fate  of  McMahon 
staring  him  in  the  face,  haunting  his  feverish  slumbers  by  night, 
and  oppressing  his  heart  by  day,  Maguire  lay  in  his  noisome 
cell,  buoyed  up  with  the  one  solitary  hope  of  being  removed  to 
Dublin  for  trial.  As  time  rolled  on,  and  the  dark,  dreary  days 
of  a London  winter  grew  into  weeks  and  they  into  months, 
without  any  change  in  his  affairs,  poor  Connor  took  it  as  a favor- 
able sign,  and  the  gleam  of  hope  grew  stronger  from  day  to 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


319 


day.  He  little  knew  the  doggedness  (so  to  say)  of  English 
hate.  The  Puritans  had  not  forgotten  him  in  his  cell. 

The  spring  time  came  on,  and  a certain  Mr.  Justice  Bacon 
took  it  upon  him  to  decide  that  “ a Baron  of  Ireland  was 
triable  by  a jury  in  England  /”  Oh,  wise  Mr.  Justice  Bacon  ! 
learned  in  the  law  wert  thou  and  well  instructed  in  the  ways  of 
persecution ! — and  thy  dictum  was  of  course  received  as  law 
and  a special  act  passed  by  the  Parliament  to  make  it  so.  Alas  ! 
poor  Connor  Maguire ! his  enemies  had  no  mind  to  give  him  the 
chance  which  a trial  by  his  peers  on  Irish  soil  might  afford 
him. 

On  the  10th  day  of  February,  Lord  Maguire  was  again 
arraigned  before  an  English  judge  and  jury.  His  case  had 
been  so  long  before  the  public  that  it  had  come  to  excite  more 
interest  than  most  others  of  the  kind, — common  as  they  were  in 
those  evil  days; — and  so  the  court  was  densely  crowded.  And 
there  in  the  dock,  before  that  curious  multitude  of  strangers, 
stood  the  young  chieftain  of  Fermanagh,  tall,  and  thin,  and  very 
pale,  his  long  auburn  locks  parted  in  the  middle  and  hanging 
down  at  either  side  almost  to  his  shoulders,  after  the  manner  of 
the  old  Irish.  Whether  through  derision,  or  in  order  to  excite 
the  anti-Irish  prejudices  of  the  spectators  more  and  more,  he 
was  clothed  in  the  habiliments  wherein  he  was  first  captured, 
carefully  preserved,  it  would  seem,  for  the  purpose,  though 
worn  almost  to  tatters  during  his  year’s  imprisonment  in  Dublin. 
It  was  the  intention  of  his  persecutors,  doubtless,  to  make  him 
ridiculous,  but  in  that  they  failed,  for  never  had  Connor  Ma- 
guire looked  more  noble  than  he  did  standing  at  the  bar,  with 
his  old  faded  cloak  wrapped  around  his  tall  slender  form, 
and  a calm  self-possession  visible  in  his  manner  that  gave  him 
an  air  of  true  dignity.  Not  without  a shudder  did  he  find  him- 
self again  at  the  bar  with  neither  counsel  to  defend  him,  nor, 
as  he  had  reason  to  believe,  one  friendly  soul  amongst  the  vast 
crowd  that  filled  the  court.  He  looked  up  to  the  judges— dark 
stern  men  they  were,  with  unmistakeably  Puritan  faces — he 
looked  to  the  jury-box — what  he  saw  there  was  not  more 
encouraging — then  fear  came  upon  his  soul,  and  hope  well  nigh 
vanished,  and  cold  sweat  oozed  from  every  pore,  and  Connor 


320 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


felt  as  though  his  limbs  were  suddenly  failing  him,  and  the 
sight  of  his  eyes  growing  dim. 

“ The  fear  of  death  was  on  him, 

And  despair  was  in  his  soul — ” 

It  was  but  for  a moment — he  prayed  for  strength  and  strength 
was  given  him,  and  the  love  of  life  prompted  him  to  struggle 
even  then  against  the  fate  which  he  so  much  dreaded.  Shaking 
off  by  an  almost  superhuman  effort  the  weakness  inherent  in 
his  nature,  he  bestirred  himself  to  note  what  was  going  forward, 
condensing  all  his  faculties  into  observation.  God  and  himself, 
he  thought,  were  all  he  had  to  depend  upon,  and  he  rallied  all 
liis  powers  to  meet  the  terrible  exigency.  Nerved  and  excited 
by  this  stern  necessity,  Connor  Maguire  displayed  during  his 
trial  an  amount  of  ingenuity  surprising  to  behold,  together  with 
a knowledge  of  the  English  law  little  to  be  expected  from  an 
Irish  chieftain  of  that  day.  Every  objection  that  a skilful  lawyer 
could  make  was  made  by  him ; every  turn  and  twist  of  the  law 
was  successively  employed  ; every  handle  it  offered,  eagerly  laid 
hold  of — alas  ! in  vain,  in  vain,  those  safeguards  of  British  jus- 
tice were  never  meant  to  benefit  a “ pestilent  Irish  Papist !”  they 
were  no  protection  to  Connor  Maguire. 

Being  arraigned,  as  we  have  said,  he  first  demanded  time  to 
have  his  witnesses  brought  from  Ireland. 

“What  can  your  witnesses  say  for  you  1”  was  the  strange 
reply,  and  the  demand  was  sternly  refused. 

“ I humbly  desire  to  have  a formal  trial,”  said  the  chief- 
tain— 

“ In  what  respect  do  you  mean  1”  responded  the  judge  with 
sweet  simplicity.  “You  are  now  arraigned — evidence  will  be 
brought  against  you — I conceive  that  is  a formal  trial ” 

What  could  the  prisoner  say  to  such  reasoning  as  this  1 

The  jury  was  then  called,  and  Lord  Maguire  challenged  the 
whole  pauel,  “ for  causes  best  known  to  himself.”  No  other 
answer  could  be  got  from  him,  and  so  for  that  day  the  trial  was 
postponed. 

It  was  only  for  a day.  On  the  following  day  his  lordship  was 
again  brought  up  for  trial.  Another  jury  was  summoned,  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


321 


this  time  the  chieftain’s  indignation  could  not  be  concealed 
under  legal  forms.  He  again  challenged  the  jury,  and  being 
ashed  his  reasons,  replied : 

“ Under  favor,  I conceive,  that  my  lands  being  sequestered, 
those  men  that  have  bought  my  lands  should  cot  pass  upon  my 
trial;  and,  therefore,  I desire  that  they  make  answer  to  it,  upon 
oath,  whether  any  of  them  have  adventured  or  not.” 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  wronged  and  plundered 
nobleman  spoke  thus — he  saw,  doubtless,  impanneled  on  his  jury, 
some  of  the  very  men  who  were  most  interested  in  pntting  him 
out  of  the  way,  and  hence  his  honest  indignation.  His  object 
was  overruled,  however,  on  the  shallow  pretence  that  a general 
challenge  such  as  that  was  not  admissible.  Still  Connor  perse- 
vered, unwilling  to  submit  to  such  outrageous  mockery  of  justice 
when  his  life  was  at  stake. 

“ I beseech  you  hear  me  in  it,”  he  said  with  touching  earn- 
estness. 

But  hear  him  they  would  not — the  jury  was  impanneled,  such 
as  it  was — the  trial  went  on — evidence  was  not  wanting  to  prove 
Lord  Maguire  an  arrant  Papist  and  a noted  rebel — the  latter 
being  a necessary  consequence  of  the  former. 

Amongst  the  witnesses  brought  over  from  Ireland  were  Sir 
William  Cole,  late  governor  of  Enniskillen,  Sir  Arthur  Loftus,* 
and  Lord  Blayney.  What  manner  of  evidence  these  loyal  plan- 
ters gave  it  is  easy  to  imagine,  but  lone  and  desolate  as  poor 
Connor  felt,  and  withal  burning  with  indignation,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  smiling  as  he  heard  Cole  gravely  relate  how  Captain 
Roderick  Maguire  had  expelled  him  from  his  post  with  small 
ceremony,  and  “ taken  upon  him  the  managing  of  all  business.” 

“ Heaven  bless  you,  my  gallant  brother!”  he  said  within  him- 
self, “ you  were  thinking  of  your  poor  Connor  then — was  I 
within  your  reach  it  would  take  strong  walls  to  keep  you  from 
me,  oh,  Rory  ! bravest  of  Fermanagh’s  sons  ! Should  I perish 
now,  it  is  something  to  know  that  there  is  one  to  revenge  the 
wrongs  of  all  our  race !” 


* It  has  been  aptly  said  that  amongst  the  present  possessors  of 
" the  land  of  the  waters”  are  men  with  these  very  same  names 


322 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord  Blayney,  examined  on  the  treasonable  religion  of  the 
prisoner,  not  only  established  his  guilt  in  that  particular  but 
also  that  of  his  supposed  friends  in  Ireland. 

“ Lord  Fingal,”  said  he,  “ is  a Papist,  and  Clanmorris  a pesti- 
ferous Papist.” 

“What!  all  Papists!”  exclaimed  Sergeant  Whitfield  in  holy 
horror ; “ good  Lord  deliver  us  !” 

The  evidence  was,  of  course,  conclusive.  Touching  the  mat- 
ter of  “ the  conspiracy,”  the  judges  deliberately  stated  that  Lord 
Maguire  had  acknowledged  it  on  his  first  examination.  This  he 
positively  denied,  whereupon  the  written  deposition  was  brought 
forward,  and  Whitfield  said  : 

“ There  it  is  under  my  Lord  Maguire’s  own  hand.” 

“ Truly  my  name  is  thereto  appended,”  said  the  unfortunate 
nobleman,  “ but  not  in  my  own  hand.” 

On  this  Lord  Blayney  was  again  called  to  prove  the  handwrit- 
ing. “ Beyond  a doubt,”  said  he,  “ that  is  my  lord’s  hand — I 
have  had  many  letters  from  him.” 

“ I crave  your  lordship’s  pardon,”  said  poor  Connor  ; “ I know 
not  that  you  have  had  many  letters  from  me.”  The  confusion 
visible  on  Blayney’s  face  went,  of  course,  for  nothing.  What 
though  he  dared  not  meet  the  eye  of  the  astonished  prisoner,  and 
slunk  from  the  box  with  the  hang-dog  expression  of  conscious 
guilt  visible  on  every  feature  ! 

“ I would  not  exchange  places  with  that  man,”  said  Maguire 
in  an  audible  voice ; “ no,  not  for  what  he  lioldeth  of  McMahon’s 
country !” 

Alas ! truth  was  not  expedient  in  that  court — the  evidence 
was,  of  course,  incot.testible  (so  said  the  judges !),  and  on  that 
evidence  “ Connor,  alias  Cornelius  Maguire,  commonly  called 
Lord  Enniskillen,”  was  found  guilty,  and  summoned  to  receive 
his  sentence. 

Sentence  ! — sentence  of  death  ! oh  ! the  agony  of  that 
thought.  The  blow  so  long  delayed  was  then  about  to  fall — 
death  in  its  most  hideous  form  was  close  at  hand — a death  of 
public  shame.  For  a moment  Maguire  was  overcome — his 
faculties  were  benumbed  and  speech  forsook  his  lips.  Was 
there,  then,  no  hope  I Raising  his  eyes  to  the  bench  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


323 


judges  lie  marked  the  cold,  contemptuous  stony  look  on  every 
face,  and  somehow  the  sight  roused  him  from  his  stupor. 

“ I desire  to  know,”  said  he,  “ by  what  law  I am  condemned.” 
“ The  law  is  well  enough  known,”  was  the  judge’s  answer. 

“ I was  not  tried  by  my  peers,”  persisted  the  Irish  lord. 

“ You  put  in  that  plea  before,  the  which  was  overruled.” 

“ I desire  counsel  to  advise  me  thereon.” 

This  was  shortly  refused.  “ Your  time  is  past  for  counsel. 
You  must  have  none  assigned  to  pick  holes  in  the  indictment.” 
Other  legal  objections  poor  Connor  made,  displaying  a degree 
of  tact  and  ingenuity  that  must  have  astonished  even  his  judges, 
but  all  were  met  in  the  same  spirit — dry,  cold,  peremptory. 
Every  point  was  “ overruled,”  and  “ said  Connor,  alias  Cornelius 
Maguire,  commonly  called  Lord  Enniskillen,”  was  sentenced  to 
be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  as  his  companion  had  been 
before. 

Hearing  this,  a mortal  paleness  overspread  Maguire’s  face. 
“ This,  then,  is  the  end  of  all  my  hopes,”  he  murmured,  and 
bowing  his  head  on  his  chest,  he  remained  for  a moment  mo- 
tionless. What  passed  within  his  soul  during  that  moment  was 
only  known  to  God  and  himself,  but  suddenly  he  stood  erect 
and  glanced  silently  up  at  the  judges  with  a calm  and  earnest 
look. 

Seeing  that  the  prisoner  remained  silent,  the  question  was 
then  put  to  him  whether  he  would  have  any  ministers  to  pray 
with  him,  “ and  advise  him  for  the  good  of  his  soul.” 

“I  desire  none  of  them,” made  answer  the  prisoner,  “but  I 
desire  I may  be  sent  prisoner  to  Newgate.” 

“ Ay,”  said  the  King’s  Counsel,  “ his  reason  is,  because  there 
are  some  Popish  priests  there.” 

“It  cannot  be,”  said  the  Judge,  “your  sentence  is  to  return 
to  the  Tower,  where  you  may  have  ministers,  if  you  will,  to 
advise  you  on  your  soul.” 

“ I desire  the  attendance  of  a priest  of  my  own  religion.” 
Quite  impossible  ! He  was  told  to  prepare  for  death  on  the 
following  Saturday. 

“ I desire  a fortnight’s  time  to  prepare.” 

“You  cannot  have  a fortnight.” 


324 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I desire  three  days’  notice.” 

That  as  a special  favor  was  granted,  and  Maguire,  perchance, 
a little  encouraged  by  the  concession,  ventured  to  request  that 
he  might  be  executed  in  some  other  way  than  hanging,  “ the 
which,”  said  he,  “ is  unbecoming  my  rank  as  a peer  of  Ireland.” 

But  no  ! this  was  too  great  a favor — the  high-born  chief  of 
the  Clan  Maguire,  the  accomplished  “ peer  of  Ireland,”  must 
needs  be  executed  like  a common  felon — the  more  degrading 
his  end,  the  better  it  pleased  his  remorseless  enemies. 

He  was  removed  from  the  bar,  and  then  a fresh  attack  was 
made  on  his  religion,.  He  was  advised  to  confer  speedily  with 
some  godly  minister  “ for  the  good  and  comfort  of  his  soul.” 

“ I say  I’ll  none  of  them,”  replied  the  chieftain ; “ an’  I be  not 
allowed  a priest  of  the  Catholic  Church,  I will  have  no  min- 
ister !” 

“ Think  better  of  it,  my  lord,”  said  a certain  Mr.  Prynne,  one 
of  the  leading  functionaries  who  had  before  enlightened  the 
court  with  the  information  that  the  prisoner  had  neither  lands 
nor  livings  in  Ireland ! “ Think  better  of  it — these  Popish 

priests  are  they  whose  counsels  have  led  you  to  this  shameful 
end  which  you  so  much  appear  to  dread.  Since  they  have  been 
such  destructive  counsellors  to  you  in  your  lifetime,  you  would 
do  well  to  discard  them  and  their  bloody  religion,  and  to  seek 
better  advisers  at  your  death,  lest  you  eternally  lose  your 
soul.”  V 

Without  a moment’s  hesitation,  Maguire  replied,  “ My  mind 
is  made  up.  I am  resolved  in  my  own  way.” 

“ My  lord,”  said  another  of  the  lawyers  present,  “ you  were 
best  to  hear  both  sides.” 

“ I have  told  you,”  said  the  chieftain  haughtily,  “ that  I am 
settled  in  my  own  faith — I desire  no  speech  of  any  minister.” 

He  was  then  conveyed  once  more  to  the  Tower,  and  during 
the  nine  days  that  elapsed  before  the  closing  scene,  he  resolutely 
drove  away  all  worldly  thoughts  and  affections.  Even  of  Em- 
meline he  did  not  dare  to  think,  although  at  times  the  question 
would  protrude  itself  between  him  and  his  devotions.  “ Hath 
she,  at  last,  given  me  up  I — doth  she  shrink  from  the  condemned 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


325 


felon  1 It  matters  not  now  who  holdeth  me  in  remembrance  or 
who  doth  not ! My  God  to  me  and  I to  Him !” 

His  petition  to  be  executed  as  became  a nobleman  having 
been  forwarded  to  parliament,  was  by  that  body  disdainfully 
rejected,  and  on  the  20th  day  of  February  the  noble  chief  of 
the  Maguires  was  drawn  on  a sledge  through  London  to  the 
fatal  hill  of  Tyburn,  so  often  stained  with  the  blood  of  the  brave 
and  good.  Arrived  there,  the  prisoner  was  placed  in  a cart, 
where  he  knelt  “ and  prayed  a while.” 

Having  so  often  declared  his  intention  to  have  no  minister  at 
his  death-hour,  it  might  be  supposed  that  his  enemies  would 
have  ceased  their  importunities  on  that  head.  Not  so,  however, 
not  so.  The  Sheriff,  good  pious  man ! must  needs  try  his  hand 
on  the  Popish  lord. 

“ Do  you  believe  you  did  well,”  said  he,  “ in  those  wicked 
actions  V ’ 

“ I have  but  a short  time — do  not  trouble  me  !” 

“ Sir,  it  is  but  just  I should  trouble  you,  that  you  may  not  be 
troubled  for  ever  !”  oh ! zealous  and  most  charitable  Mr.  Sheriff 
Gibbs ! 

“ I beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  me  not,”  said  the  poor  prisoner 
again ; “ I have  but  little  time  to  spend.” 

But  the  Sheriff  insisting,  would  have  had  him  acknowledge 
himself  in  the  wrong  in  what  he  did,  for  the  satisfaction,  as  he 
said,  of  the  people. 

“ I beseech  you  do  not  trouble  me  !”  still  said  the  persecuted 
sufferer ; “I  am  not  disposed  to  give  you  an  account.  Pray 
give  me  leave  to  pray  !”* 

Oh ! the  grandeur,  the  majesty  of  Maguire’s  mien  as  he 
uttered  those  words — “ Pray  give  me  leave  to  pray  !”  Surely 
more  touching  words  were  never  spoken  bj  human  lip.  There 
was  all  the  humility  of  the  Christian  mingled  with  supreme 
contempt  of  his  persecutors  and  their  impotent  assaults. 

A new  tack  was  then  taken — the  Commission  again  1 — had  he, 

* In  this  short  account  of  the  trial,  I have  given  the  noble-hearted 
chief’s  exact  words.  They  are  too  sublime  in  their  lofty  simplicity 
tobe  lightly  altered.  I give  them  verbatim  from  the  published  ac- 
count of  his  trial. 


326 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 

or  knew  he  of  others  having  any  commission—' “ who  were 
actors  or  plotters  with  you,  or  gave  you  any  commission  V1 

“ For  God’s  sake  give  me  leave  to  depart  in  peace.” 

All  this  while  Maguire  had  been  looking  intently  on  a piece 
of  paper  which  Had  been  thrust  into  his  hand  as  he  left  the 
Tower  Gate.  As  he  looked,  his  eye  brightened  and  his  whole 
aspect  changed.  What  was  in  the  paper  1 There  was  a short 
selection  of  thoughts  and  reflections  befitting  that  awful  moment, 
together  with  some  brief  ejaculatory  prayers  suitable  for  the  oc- 
casion. But  there  was  more,  oh ! far  more  than  these,  there  was  a 
brief  note  from  a priest,  who  signed  himself  his  “ friend  William,” 
to  the  effect  that  as  he  was  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  confess- 
ing his  sins,  he  should  not  want  the  consolations  of  religion.  On 
a sign  specified,  this  good  priest  who  had  ridden  many  a weary 
mile  for  that  purpose,  was  to  give  him  absolution  from  his  place 
amongst  the  spectators.  To  encourage  him  the  more  the 
appearance  of  -the  priest  was  clearly  indicated.  He  was  to  sit 
<l  on  a red  horse,  in  a white  hat  and  a grey  jacket,”  and  lest  this 
good  “ friend  William”  should  meet  with  any  mischance,  the 
presence  of  two  or  three  other  priests  was  intimated,  so  that  the 
prisoner  could  not  fail  to  secure  the  “ plenary  physic”  for  his 
soul  at  his  departure  on  his  last  journey.  The  sign  agreed  upon 
was  that  Maguire  was  to  raise  his  hand  to  his  face  and  bow  down 
his  head.  “ 1 beseech  you,  dear  sir,”  said  the  letter,  “ be  of 
good  courage,  for  you  shall  not  want  anything  for  that  happy 
journey,  and  offer  you  yourself  wholly  for  Him,  who  did  the 
same  for  you.” 

And  so  Maguire  did,  and  hence  the  nobleness  of  his  end. 

Mr.  Sheriff  Gibbs,  thwarted  in  his  pious  designs,  ordered  the 
prisoner’s  pockets  to  be  searched.  They  contained  nothing  but 
his  beads  and  crucifix,  which  Connor  eagerly  took  hold  of. 

“ Come,  my  lord!”  said  one  of  the  officials,  pointing  to  these 
sacred  objects,  “ leave  these  and  acknowledge  your  offence  to 
God  and  the  world.  It  is  not  your  Ave  Marias  nor  those  things 
will  do  you  any  good.” 

Maguire  heeded  not  his  impertinence,  but  calmly  turning  to 
the  people  who  were  present  in  crowds  to  see  the  spectacle,  he 
spoke  these  memorable  words  : 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


327 


“ Since  I am  here  to  die,  I desire  to  depart  with  a quiet  mind, 
and  with  the  marks  of  a*  good  Christian,  that  is,  asking  forgive- 
ness first  of  God,  and  next  of  the  world.  And  I do  forgive  (from 
.the  bottom  of  my  heart)  all  my  enemies  and  offenders,  even 
those  that  have  an  hand  in  my  death.  I die  a Roman  Catholic, 
and  although  I have  been  a great  sinner,  yet  am  I now,  by  God’s 
grace,  heartily  sorry  for  all  my  sins,  and  I do  most  confidently 
trust  to  be  saved  (not  by  my  own  works),  but  only  by  the  pas- 
sion, merits,  and  mercy  of  my  dear  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  into 
whos-e  hand  I commend  my  soul.” 

“ Prepare  for  death  !”  said  the  harsh  voice  of  Sheriff  Gibbs. 
Connor  Maguire  bent  his  stately  head  a moment  and  closed 
his  eyes  while  he  made  his  act  of  contrition,  then  slowly  raised 
his  right  hand  to  his  face  and  murmured,  “ Absolve  me,  0 Lord, 
from  my  sins — cleanse  my  soul  with  Thy  precious  blood !” 

“ The  moment  is  come !”  said  Sheriff  Gibbs. 

Lord  Maguire  turned  for  the  last  time  to  the  people  : “ I do 
beseech,”  said  he,  “ all  the  Catholics  that  are  here  to  pray  for 
me — I beseech  God  to  have  mercy  on  my  soul !” 

They  were  his  last  words.  The  fatal  noose  was  on  his  neck. 
A few  minutes  more  and  his  half-dead  body  was  cut  down  and 
quartered,  and  another  bright  name  was  added  to  the  glorious 
list  of  Irish  martyrs. 

Comment  on  such  a death  were  superfluous,  but  who  can 
help  remarking  the  wondrous  change  wrought  by  Divine  grace 
in  the  character  of  this  truly  noble  son  of  the  Maguires  1 Who 
could  recognize  in  that  stern  confessor  of  the  faith  the  timid 
and  vacillating  guest  of  O’Moore,  whose  extreme  caution  and 
(as  it  seemed)  pusillanimous  fears  would  have  crushed  in  its 
infancy  the  great  struggle  for  freedom  1 

Before  that  Puritan  English  Court  his  character  assumed 
another  development,  he  was  there  the  subtle  disputant,  plead- 
ing his  own  cause  with  marvellous  skill — fighting  the  enemy  with 
his  own  weapons,  and  struggling  like  a drowning  man  for  life. 

He  perished  in  the  flower  of  his  years — a martyr  to  the  sacred 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom,  and  surely  the  proud  an- 
cestral tree  of  “ the  Maguires,  sons  of  the  waters,”  has  given  no 
name  to  Irish  history  so  dear  as  that  of  Connor. 


328 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

“ Who  on  his  staff  is  this?  who  is  this  whose  head  is  white  with 
age ; whose  eyes  are  red  with  tears  ; who  quakes  at  every  step.” 

* * * * % * 

“Who  comes  from  Strumon,”  they  said,  “amid  her  wandering 
locks  ? She  is  mournful  in  her  steps,  and  lifts  her  blue  eyes  towards 
Erin  ? Why  art  thou  sad,  Evir-Choma  ? who  is  like  thy  chief  in 
renown  ?”  MacPhebson’s  Poems  of  Ossian. 

Meanwhile  great  events  were  going  on  in  Ireland.  The 
fatal  truce  was  scrupulously  observed  by  the  Confederates  as 
regarded  the  armies  of  the  king,  but  Monroe,  with  an  army  of 
17,000  men,  held  for  the  Parliament  in  Ulster.  The  double- 
dyed  traitor,  Inchiquin,  had  also  declared  for  the  same  cause  in 
Munster,  moved  thereto  by  anger  for  the  king’s  bestowing  the 
Presidency  of  that  Province  on  the  Earl  of  Portland,  whereas 
he  had  gone  over  to  England  for  the  special  purpose  of  soli- 
citing that  office  from  his  Majesty  at  Oxford.  Here,  then, 
were  two  powerful  armies  of  “ Covenanting  carls”  to  be  encoun- 
tered by  the  Confederates  during  the  period  of  the  Cessation 
with  Ormond.  As  regarded  the  latter  nobleman,  the  king  had 
shown  his  satisfaction  at  the  successful  issue  of  the  negotiations, 
by  appointing  him  to  the  office  of  Lord  Lieutenant,  in  room  of 
the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  had  discharged  none  of  its  functions, 
having  never  gone  over  to  Ireland.  There  was  Ormond,  then, 
at  the  head  of  the  Irish  government,  uniting  in  his  own  person 
the  civil  and  military  command,  and,  shame  to  tell ! many  of 
the  Anglo-Irish  Confederates  were  seen  creeping  once  more  into 
the  capital  and  hanging  about  the  Court,  a fitting  sequel  to  the 
degrading  scene  at  Jigginstown.*  Still  did  the  chieftains  of  the 

* Ihe  advantages  derived  by  Ormond  from  his  able  diplomacy  may 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


329 


old  blood  keep  jealously  aloof,  maintaining  that  independence 
so  honorable  to  them,  and  mourning  in  secret  over  the  blind 
infatuation  which  allowed  Ormond  to  bring  about  that  unlucky 
Cessation.  As  regarded  the  Confederates  the  pernicious  effects 
of  that  measure  were  every  day  becoming  more  apparent 
The  generals  had  found  ^themselves  unable  to  keep  their  sol- 
diers from  taking  leave  of  absence  and  rambling  about  the 
country  hither  and  thither  under  one  pretence  or  another,  to  the 
no  small  detriment  of  their  clothes,  and  other  equipments,  their 
horses,  and  all  the  rest.  The  armies  were,  therefore,  more  or  less 
broken  up,  and  when  corps  were  got  together  again,  they  were, 
in  some  instances,  hardly  fit  for  service.  The  ships,  too,  that 
had  been  chartered  by  the  Council,  and  done  such  good  service 
in  protecting  the  coasts,  landing  men  and  ammunition  from  for- 
eign countries,  and  in  various  ways  contributed  largely  to  the 
success  of  the  Confederates,  now  betook  themselves  whence 
they  came,  their  services  being,  as  it  were,  no  longer  needed. 
Their  place  was  immediately  supplied  by  shoals  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary cruisers  of  every  size  (sailing  under  orders  to  spare 
neither  man  nor  woman  of  the  Irish),  so  that  the  coast  was  com- 
pletely bombarded,  and  all  communication  with  the  Continent 
well  nigh  cut  off. 

These  were  serious  misfortunes  in  themselves,  but  to  make 
matters  worse,  the  Supreme  Council  must  needs  send  off  3,000 
of  its  best  men,  together  with  considerable  store  of  arms  and 
provisions  to  Scotland,  to  aid  the  gallant  Montrose  in  his  chival- 
rous efforts  to  maintain  the  royal  authority.  Little  as  the 
faithless  Charles  deserved  it  from  them,  and  albeit  that  the 
Council  acted  unwisely  in  sending  them  abroad  at  such  a time 
on  such  an  errand,  the  career  of  those  brave  Irish  regiments  in 
Scotland  undoubtedly  added  a glorious  page  to  the  military 
history  of  our  race.  They  were  commanded  by  a Catholic  Ilesman 

be  collected  from  the  fact,  that  hitherto  the  Confederate  ships  inter- 
cepted all  supplies,  and  left  Dublin  in  such  a state,  that  upon  search 
being  made  in  the  city  and  suburbs  there  could  not  be  found 
fourteen  days’  provisions  for  the  inhabitants  and  soldiers.— Sir  P. 
Percival’s  Statement , quoted  by  Meehan. 


330 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


named  Alexander  McDonnell,  the  Colkitto  of  Scottish  story, 
under  whose  guidance  they  performed  prodigies  of  valor  during 
that  disastrous  war  in  Scotland — 

“ What  time  the  plaid  cd  elans  came  down 
To  battle  with  Montrose.” 

The  heroic  devotion  wherewith  these  chivalrous  Irish  soldiers 
fought  for  a king  to  whom  they,  as  Catholics,  owed  so  little  grati- 
tude, must  have  touched  the  unhappy  monarch,  and  opened  his 
eyes  as  to  who  were  his  true  friends. 

About  the  same  time  the  Supreme  Council,  with  a just  ap- 
preciation of  the  services  o-f  Father  Luke  Wadding,  sent  an 
agent  to  Rome  to  solicit  his  Holiness  to  elevate  that  eminent  ec- 
clesiastic to  the  rank  of  cardinal.*  There  is  little  doubt  that 
Urban  VIII.  would  have  conferred  that  high  dignity  on  a mail 
for  whom  he  had  ever  manifested  the  highest  esteem,  but  if 
such  were  his  intention  death  prevented  him  from  carrying  it 
out — that  great  and  good  Pontiff  died  during  that  disastrous 
yearf — the  Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland  lost  one  of  their 
best  and  truest  friends,  and,  in  all  probability,  the  Irish  nation 
missed  the  opportunity  of  having  a Prince  of  the  Church  to 
boast  of. 

The  memorial  sent  to  Rome  on  behalf  of  Luke  Wadding  con- 
tained also  a most  interesting  account  of  the  state  of  Catholicity 
in  Ireland  at  that  precise  poriod,  which  must  have  given  no 
small  contentment  to  the  closing  days  of  Urban.  From  that 
document  we  will  give  an  extract  without  other  apology  for  so 
doing  than  the  cheering  picture  it  presents  of  what  the  Con- 
federates had  achieved  : 

“It  is  now  manifest  to  the  whole  Christian  world  with  what 
fidelity  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  have  clung  to  their  ancient 
faith,  and  how  they  braved  death,  and  exile,  and  the  confisca- 
tion of  their  substance,  rather  than  renounce  the  religion  of 

* See  McGlee’s  Gallery  of  Irish  Writers — Life  of  Luke  Wadding. 

t Urban  VIII.  died  in  July,  1644,  and  was  succeeded  by  Innocent 
X.,  on  the  15th  of  September. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


331 


their  ancestors.  To  you,  most  holy  Father,  it  is  particularly 
known  how  heroically  the  Irish  people,  without  arms  or  muni- 
tions of  war,  have  struggled  against  the  phalanxes  of  those  who, 
sworn  enemies  of  the  Holy  See,  had  vowed  and  sworn  to  pluck 
up  our  religion  by  the  very  roots.  Our  holy  war  has  had  a 
glorious  result.  The  Lord  God  is  now  publicly  worshipped  in 
our  temples,  after  the  manner  of  our  fathers  ; most  of  the  ca- 
thedrals have  been  restored  to  our  bishops  ; the  religious  orders 
possess  the  monasteries,  and  seminaries  have  been  opened  for 
the  education  of  our  youth.  This  great  work  has  been  accom- 
plished through  the  goodness  of  God,  and  the  many  favors  be- 
stowed on  us  by  you  ; verily  in  future  times  the  brightest  page  in 
the  history  of  your  pontificate  shall  be,  that  you  found  the  Ca- 
tholic religion  despised  and  prostrate  in  our  island,  and  ere  that 
pontificate  closed  beheld  it  raised  up  in  splendor,  and  magnifi- 
cently attired,  even  as  a bride  for  her  spouse.” 

All  this  had  been  effected  by  the  Catholic  soldiers  of  Ireland 
during  the  three  or  four  years  which  had  elapsed  since  that 
memorable  23d  of  October  when  the  war-fires  first  blazed  on 
the  hills  of  Ulster.  Alas ! that  Ormond’s  insidious  diplomacy 
could  undo  by  slow  degrees  what  Catholic  valor  had  so  bril- 
liantly won,  and  that  dissensions  should  arise  amongst  men 
united  for  the  holiest  of  purposes.  By  union,  all  this  marvel- 
lous success  had  been  gained,  by  the  disunion  which  Ormond 
succeeded  in  introducing  into  their  ranks,  we  shall  see  how  it 
fared  with  the  Confederates. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year’s  truce,  the  Supreme  Council 
being  then  sitting  at  Waterford  began  to  discuss  the  propriety 
of  pawning  that  portion  of  the  kingdom  which  the  Confederates 
held  in  order  to  obtain  money  for  carrying  on  the  war4  Owen 
Roe,  being  then  in  Waterford  on  business  with  the  Council,  was 
summoned  before  it  to  give  his  opinion,  a proof  that  his  charac- 
ter for  wisdom  was  at  least  equal  to  his  military  fame.  He 
heard  the  proposal  with  his  usual  calmness,  but  a frown  ga- 
thered on  his  brow. 

“ What !”  said  he,  “ pawn  the  land  which  our  swords  have 


t Meehan’s  Confederation 


332 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


won ! The  soil  that  is  watered  with  our  soldiers’  blood ! — my 
lords  and  gentlemen,  I will  never  consent  to  it ” 

“But  how  are  we  to  carry  on  the  war 7”  demanded  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Dublin. 

“ How  have  we  carried  it  on  up  to  the  present? — pardon  me, 
my  lord,  an’  I speak  over  sharplj  — but  I thought  all  this  ho- 
norable council  must  needs  feel  as  I do  that  help  hath  been 
sent  us  from  Sion,  and  that  He  who  hath  given  is  still  powerful 
to  give.  No,  my  lords  and  brother  Confederates,  I for  one  will 
never  consent  to  give  any  foreign  power  an  interest  in  Ireland. 
Beg  and  even  borrow,  an’  ye  will,  but  pawn — faugh!  I like  not 
the  word ! it  savors  of  such  distress  as  hath  not  yet  fallen  to  our 
lot,  nor  shall , with  Heaven’s  good  aid !” 

Most  of  the  bishops  being  of  the  same  mind  the  proposal  was 
finally  rejected,  and  soon  after,  the  Council  returned  to  Kilkenny. 
By  that  time  the  news  of  the  execution  of  Maguire  and  McMa- 
hon had  arrived,  and  the  most  lukewarm  of  the  Anglo-Irish 
were  roused  for  a season  into  something  like  fervor,  and  half 
regretted  the  Cessation.  The  northern  clans,  especially  those 
of  Fermanagh  and  Uriel,  could  with  difficulty  be  restrained 
from  bursting  simultaneously  on  the  enemy,  and  by  one  bold 
stroke  securing  victory  and  revenge. 

The  vengeful  fury  of  McMahon  and  Maguire  was  shared,  as 
might  be  expected,  by  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  ever  opposed  to  his 
kinsman’s  systematic  and  cautious  mode  of  warfare,  and  when 
Owen  Hoe,  as  usual,  employed  his  supreme  authority  on  the 
side  of  order  and  deliberation,  the  chieftains,  so  terribly  ag- 
grieved, could  not  help  accusing  him  of  coldness  and  want  of 
feeling.  Their  dissatisfaction  was  well  known  to  Owen,  and  he 
summoned  them  all  to  meet  him  at  Charlemont  where  he  ex- 
plained at  some  length  his  plans  for  the  future,  whereby  their 
wrongs  would  be  more  effectually  revenged  than  by  a wild, 
disorderly  onslaught  which  might  well  end  in  their  own  de- 
struction and  the  ruin  of  their  cause. 

“ Before  God  this  day,”  said  he,  “ I feel  your  wrongs  as  my 
own.  Costelloe  McMahon  I knew  abroad,  and  held  in  high 
esteem ; Maguire,  by  his  heroic  death,  hath  covered  himself 
with  glory  (as  indeed  they  both  did),  and  made  his  name  dear 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


333 


to  all  of  us.  Death  was  gain  to  them,  hut,  natheless,  friends 
and  brothers,  they  have  left  us  a debt  to  pay,  and  it  will  go 
hard  with  us  an’  we  pay  it  not.  The  day  of  vengeance  will 
come,  so  sure  as  my  name  is  Owen  O’Neill,  and  it  will  come  all 
the  surer  and  mayhap  all  the  sooner,  will  you  hut  restrain  your 
lawful  anger  until  I give  you  the  word — then — then,  chieftains 
of  Ulsier,  I swear  you  may  work  your  will  and  revenge  your 
wrongs  with  one  crushing  blow  ! Nay,  Sir  Phelim !” — and  rising, 
he  waved  his  hand  majestically — “ nay,  thus  shall  it  be — seek 
not,  I charge  you,  to  stir  up  strife — there  be  enough  of  it,  and 
too  much,  in  the  Confederate  camp,  thanks  to  Ormond’s  trick- 
ery— let  us  of  the  old  blood — here  in  Ulster — have  peace 
amongst  us  that  a blessing  may  rest  on  our  arms.  What  say 
you,  McMahon'?  and  you,  my  youug  friend'?”  to  Rory  Maguire. 

1 ‘ Shall  we  dishonor  ourselves  by  violating  this  Cessation,  agreed 
on  in  our  name,  though  without  our  consent — or  suffer  it  to  ex- 
pire, after  the  manner  of  honorable  men,  and  then  settle  our 
account  in  our  own  way  and  at  our  own  time  1” 

Whilst  Maguire  and  McMahon,  but  half  convinced,  withdrew 
into  a corner  to  confer  together,  the  trumpet  at  the  gate  an- 
nounced an  arrival,  and  very  soon  after  a singular  apparition 
greeted  the  eyes  of  the  assembled  chieftains.  Grim  and  ghastly 
as  a warrior  of  old  arisen  from  the  tomb,  with  his  grizzled  elf- 
locks  hanging  in  wild  disorder  from  under  the  rim  of  his  bar - 
radhy  and  his  eyes  glittering  with  unnatural  brightness,  Lorcan 
Maguire  strode  up  the  hall  wrapped  in  his  war-cloak,  and  lead- 
ing by  the  hand  a lady  of  rare  beauty,  attired  in  the  deepest 
mourning  of  that  day.  The  palor  of  death  was  on  her  face,  and 
in  her  ey^es  a settled  look  of  despair  that  was  pitiful  to  behold 
in  one  so  lovely  and  so  young. 

Involuntarily  all  the  chieftains  rose  as  this  vision  of  beauty 
and  of  woe  appeared  before  them.  The  sight  of  Lorcan  was  no 
great  surprise  of  itself,  for  the  old  man,  since  his  return  from 
London,  had  been  going  about  amongst  the  chiefs  endeavoring 
to  stir  them  up. 

“ Rory  Maguire  !”  said  the  old  man  as  his  quick  eye  sought 
out  his  nephew,  “ come  hither,  Rory  ! and  welcome  the  beloved 
of  Connor — her  story  is  not  unknown  to  thee !” 


334 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


In  an  instant  Roderick  Maguire  was  by  the  lady’s  side,  and  he 
took  her  offered  hand  with  the  reverence  due  to  a superior  being, 
the  while  tears  rushed  unbiddon  to  his  eyes,  and  the  color 
mounted  to  his  cheek. 

“Welcome!”  he  murmured  in  a faltering  voice welcome ! 
fair  Emmeline — more  than  sister  !” 

“Thanks,  Roderick!”  spoke  the  pale  fair  mourner  after  a 
moment’s  pause  ; “ thanks,  brother  of  Maguire ! I am  here  to 
speak  with  Owen  Roe  and  the  northern  leaders — wdiich,  I pray 
you,  is  Owen  Roel  ” 

“ Lady,  he  stands  before  you  !”  said  O’Neill  stepping  forward, 
and  bowing  with  that  grave  courtesy  which  became  a gentleman 
of  rank.  “ Deign  to  honor  me  with  your  commands  !” 

“ Courteous  chief,”  said  Emmeline,  raising  her  heavy  eyes  to 
his,  then  glancing  timidly  around  on  the  stately  circle,  “ I come 
to  seek  for  justice  and  revenge  at  your  hands.  Justice  mocked 
and  outraged  in  an  English  Court — revenge  for  the  blood  of 
Maguire  and  his  friend ! I have  carried  my  sorrows  to  Kil- 
kenny, and  told  my  dismal  tale  before  the  grand  Assembly  of  the 
Confederates;  the  proud  Norman  lords  listened  with  cold  indif- 
ference, or  faintly  spoke  of  ' submission  to  the  law,’  ‘ Cessation,’ 
and  I wot  not  what — the  murder  of  those  innocent  men  under  the 
guise  of  justice  moved  them  not  at  all,  or  so  little  that  I lost  all 
hope  of*  redress  from  them,  and  so  I turned  my  weary  steps 
northward,  sure  of  finding  amongst  Maguires  and  McMahons, 
and  the  other  valiant  septs  of  Ulster,  the  ear  to  hear  and  the  arm 
to  right  their  kinsmen’s  wrongs ! Chiefs ! I stand  before  you 
the  betrothed  of  Connor  Maguire — have  I journeyed  hither  in 
vain  1” 

Most  of  those  present  had  heard  in  one  way  or  another  the 
story  of  Emmeline’s  ill-fated  love  and  her  more  than  womanly 
devotion,  and  now  when  she  appeared  before  them  in  the  ma- 
jesty of  her  beauty  and  her  sorrow  to  plead  the  cause  of  one 
whom  they  had  all  loved,  their  hearts  swelled  with  pity  and 
with  admiration. 

“ By  the  sword  of  Heber,  no  !”  said  McMahon,  with  a re- 
proachful glance  at  Owen  Roe;  “ foul  shame  it  is  that  no  move 
is  taken  in  that  matteiv  and,  on  the  word  of  a chieftain,  gentle 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


335 


lady!  the  fault  rests  not  with  us  of  Uriel  or  Fermanagh.  Had 
we  our  way  you  should  have  heard  ere  now  of  a terrible  re- 
venge, and  as  God  liveth,  no  human  power  can  keep  us  in  much 
longer ” 

“ Art ! Art ! have  patience  1”  said  Owen  Roe,  “ nurse 
your  wrath  yet  awhile  as  1 have  told  you,  and  for  every  drop  of 
Costelloe’s  blood  you  shall  have  satisfaction  ! Lady  !”  turning 
to  Emmeline,  “ I crave  your  pardon,  an’  my  speech  be  over  free 
but  I would  know  how  your  brother,  Sir  Charles  Coote,  doth 
regard  your  passages  with  our  friend  deceased ” 

“ My  brother  /”  repeated  the  lady  with  startling  vehemence, 
“ speak  not  of  him  I charge  you  ! he  is  henceforth  no  brother 
of  mine ! — were  it  not  for  him  I might,  as  I purposed,  have 
made  yet  another  attempt  to  save  the  life  that  was  dearer  far 
than  my  own — my  inventive  powers  were  not  exhausted,  and  I 
might  have  succeeded — but — but — ” here  she  raised  her  hand 
to  her  head,  made  an  effort  to  continue  and  failed,  then  turning 
to  Lorcan,  motioned  for  him  to  speak. 

“When  the  Lady  Emmeline  reached  Dublin,”  said  the  old 
man,  “ she  went  to  visit  her  mother,  and  although  she  wanted 
none  of  her  brothers  to  know  she  was  there,  and  begged  her 
mother  to  keep  the  secret,  they  found  it  out  somehow,  and  be- 
fore she  knew  what  they  were  about,  Sir  Charles  had  her  taken 
and  put  in  the  mad-house.” 

‘ In  the  mad-house  !”  cried  many  of  the  chiefs  simultaneously 
in  a voice  of  horror. 

“ Even  so,  noble  gentlemen !”  said  Emmeline,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  burning  cheeks.  “An’  ye  doubt  it — see  here!”  and 
raising  the  silken  riding-hood  from  off  her  head,  there  was  seen 
a close-fitting  velvet  cap  which  being,  in  its  turn,  removed  not  a 
vestige  of  hair  was  there.  The  head  was  closely  shaved,  and 
while  the  chieftains  exchanged  looks  of  wonder  and  compas- 
sion, Emmeliib  burst  into  a wild  hysterical  laugh. 

“ Ay  ! ye  may  stare  !”  she  cried  ; “there  is  a sight  to  look 
upon.  There  was  a day  when  the  loss  of  the  tresses  so  dearly 
prized  would  have  well  nigh  driven  me  mad,  but  I miss  them 
not  at  all  now  since  he  is  dead,  whom  alone  I wished  to  please. 
I care  not,  then,  for  my  fair  tresses — let  them  go  and  welcome — 


336 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


but,  ob ! the  maddening  thought  that  the  man  who  immured  me 
in  a mad-house,  and  told  them  I was  raving  mad — that  that  man 
should  be  my  father’s  son  !— oh ! chiefs ! and  gallant  gentlemen  ! 
think  of  it !” 

All  hearts  were  moved  by  this  sad  appeal,  and  by  a common 
impulse  every  hand  sought  the  sword  or  skene,  while  a low,  deep 
murmur  ran  through  the  assembly  like  the  angry  surge  that 
predicts  the  storm. 

Owen  O’Neill  enjoined  silence  by  a motion  of  his  hand,  then 
calmly  addressed  the  fair  petitioner. 

“ Lady,  suffice  it  to  say,  we  are  men  and  have  hearts  to  feel” — 
and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  own 
heart — “Maguire  andMcMahon  died  for  our  cause — th*.  ir  memory 
is  dear  to  us — we  will  revenge  their  sufferings  and  death  when 
we  can  do  it  to  our  satisfaction,  and  beli,  ve  me,  fair  daughter 
of  the  Sassenach  ! the  doleful  tale  we  have  heard  but  now  will 
nerve  our  arms  with  deadlier  force  in  the  hour  of  retribution.” 

“ Thanks,  most  noble  chieftain,  thanks !”  said  Emmeline  in  a 
voice  half  choked  with  sobs ; “ for  myself  I have  renounced 
kith  and  kin — my  mother  alone  excepted,  and  as  remaining  with 
her  in  Charles  Coote’s  house  were  impossible,  I demand  a safe 
and  honorable  asylum  from  the  chivalrous  sons  of  the  Gael !” 
Several  of  the  chieftains  stepped  eagerly  forward — Sir  Plielim 
to  offer  his  mother’s  house,  McMahon  and  O’Reilly  the  protec- 
tion of  their  respective  wives,  and  Magennis  that  of  a maiden 
sister,  who  kept  house  by  herself  at  Dromore-Iveagh.  Owen 
Roe  fixed  his  thoughtful  eyes  on  the  lady,  while  Lorcan  at  one 
side  and  Roderick  at  the  other  seized  her  hand. 

“ I would  to  Heaven,  lady  !”  said  Owen  Roe,  “that  I could 
promise  you  an  asylum  befitting  your  station  and  safe  at  the 

same  time  as  we  could  wish: ” 

“ I pray  you,  general,  heed  not  my  rank — think  only  of  my 
necessities !”  •, 

“ An’  you  are  willing  to  endure  hardship,  sweet  lady,  and 
shift  your  dwelling  at  the  approach  of  danger,  you  shall  not 
want  a fitting  companion  —you  shall  share  the  hard  lot  of  O’Ca- 
hau’s  daughter !”  This  last  was  rather  addressed  to  the  chiefs, 
and  Lorcan  Maguire  exclaimed  with  some  petulance  : 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


337 


“ A pretty  asylum  tliat  will  be,  lurking  in  boles  and  corners 
with  poor  old  Father  Phelimy — an  obstinate  piece  of  woman’s 
flesh  that  same  Judith  always  was  ! 

“ And  still  is,”  chimed  in  Sir  Phelim,  “ or  it  isn't  as  she  is 
she’d  be  now !” 

“ The  general  is  right,  natheless,”  said  Roderick  Maguire  ; 
“ Judith  O’Cahan  is  of  all  women  in  Ulster  the  one  to  take 
charge  of  the  Lady  Emmeline 

“ Take  charge  of  her!”  repeated  Owen  O’Neill  with  a grave 
smile. 

“ Keep  her  company,  I mean,”  said  the  young  chieftain  hastily. 

“ What  ye  judge  best,  that  will  I do,”  said  Emmeline 
meekly.  “ Keep  me  amongst  you,  friends  and  kinsmen  of  Ma- 
guire, loyal  knights  and  gentlemen,  and  I ask  no  more.  His 
people  are  henceforth  my  people  !” 

“ God  bless  you,  my  child,  God  bless  you  !”  said  old  Lorcan, 
pressing  her  hand  with  deep  emotion;  “ I would  go  myself  and 
protect  you  and  Judith  but  the  spirits  of  my  race  say  otherwise. 
My  place  is  evermore  in  the  ranks  of  Owen’s  army,  waiting, 
waiting  for  the  day  that  will  wipe  out  all  our  score  against  the 
Puritans,  and  then,  Emmeline,  my  daughter,  then  old  Lorcan 
will  go  to  his  long  home  where  the  young  and  the  brave  are 
gone  before  him !” 

Meanwhile  Owen  had  sent  for  Donogh  and  Angus  whom  he 
knew  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Castle,  and  when  they 
arrived  he  demanded  if  they  knew  where  the  Lady  Judith  was 
to  be  found. 

“ That  we  do  full  well,  general,”  said  the  Rapparee  captain, 
“ herself  and  his  reverence  were  with  Captain  Con’s  mother, 
poor  lady ! at  Strabane,  but  yestermorn — I know  not  how  Jong 
they  may  sojourn  with  her  but  there  they  be  now.” 

“ Better  place  could  we  not  desire,”  said  Owen  cheerfully ; 
then  turning  to  Emmeline : “ Lady,  you  shall  have  a home  such 
as  I did  not  dare  to  hope  for — one  of  the  noblest  matrons  of 
the  O’Neills — a mourner,  too,  like  yourself — hath  a house  well 
garrisoned  at  Strabane,  and  with  her  is  now  the  lady  I spoke  of 
as  your  fittest  companion.  An  aged  priest  is  of  their  company, 
15 


338 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


it  is  true” — be  smiled  sadly — “ but  that  inconvenience  we  cannot 
remedy.’* 

“ Say  not  inconvenience,  General  O’Neill,”  said  the  lady  ear- 
nestly ; “ had  Maguire  lived  I meant  to  embrace  his  religion — 
his  martyrdom — as  I needs  must  call  it — hath  but  given  me  a 
new  motive.  I esteem  it  a signal  favor  from  on  high  to  obtain 
thus  easily  the  needful  instruction.” 

“ In  that  case,  lady,  these  faithful  fellows” — pointing  to  the 
Rapparees — “ will  convey  you  thither  in  safety  before  the  night 
falls.  Nay,  fear  them  not,  though  they  bear  the  dreaded  name 
of  Rapparees.  I have  trusted  them  ere  now  with  the  keeping 
of  some  not  inferior  in  nobleness  or  beauty  even  to  the  Lady 
Emmeline !”  and  he  bowed  with  a smile  all  his  own. 

“ Say  it  out,  man  !”  cried  the  rough  voice  of  Sir  Phelim ; “ we 
all  know  who  you  mean.” 

“ I have  said  enough  for  my  purpose,  cousin  mine,”  said 
Owen  coldly  ; “ Donogh,  to  your  care  I confide  this  noble  lady 
— take  a party  of  your  own,  and  escort  her  with  all  speed  to 
the  Castle  of  Strabane,  greeting  good  Mistress  Una  from  me, 
and — and — the  Lady  Judith — say  I commend — all  the  chiefs 
commend — this  noblest  of  English  maidens  to  their  good 
offices ” 

“ With  your  leave,  general,”  said  Roderick  Maguire,  “my  uncle 
and  I will  be  of  the  party — it  behoves  us  to  see  the  Lady  Emme- 
line safe  housed.” 

This  new  proposition  gave  general  satisfaction,  and  before  an 
hour  had  elapsed  the  strangely-assorted  party  set  out  for  Stra- 
bane, the  lady  mounted  on  a handsome  palfrey,  the  gift  of  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill. 

Before  the  chiefs  had  come  to  any  decision  the  news  of 
ltichiquiffs  going  over  to  the  Parliament  came  with  stunning  effect, 
followed,  as  it  soon  after  was,  by  the  account  of  his  horrible 
massacre  at  Cashel,  where  in  one  day  he  slew  some  thousands 
of  the  inhabitants  who  had  betaken  themselves  to  the  Rock  and 
its  sacred  buildings  for  safety  when  they  heard  of  his  approach. 
But  to  “ Murrougli  of  the  burnings”  no  place  was  sacred,  and 
so  the  shrine  at  which  his  fathers  had  worshipped — the  Royal 
Cathedral  of  Thomond  was  desecrated  that  day  by  the  blood  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


339 


thousands  of  victims,  amongst  them  some  twenty  priests  who 
had  taken  refuge  behind  the  high  altar — and  there  were  in 
humanly  butchered. 

About  the  same  time  fresh  reinforcements  arrived  from  Scot- 
land to  swell  the  army  of  General  Monroe,  who  had  publicly 
taken  the  covenant  in  Carrickfergus  at  the  bidding  of  the’ Eng- 
lish Parliament.*  The  forces  under  his  command  now  numbered 
full  twenty  thousand,  and  the  whole  country  was  thrown  into  a 
state  of  consternation,  knowing  by  experience  that  the  war  car- 
ried on  under  Puritan  auspices  was  a war  of  utter  exter- 
mination. 

Owen  Roe’s  army,  like  most  of  the  others  belonging  to  the 
Confederation,  was  in  great  part  scattered  and  disorganized  by 
the  truce  with  Ormond,  and  when  any  number  were  brought 
together  their  discipline,  their  arms  and  accoutrements  were  all 
in  bad  repair.  Whilst  O’Neill  was  turning  in  his  mind  what  he 
liad  best  do  under  such  discouraging  circumstances,  he  was 
summoned  to  Kilkenny  in  all  haste. 

Arrived  there  he  found  the  General  Assembly  in  full  session 
and  all  in  a state  of  trepidation,  because  of  the  inundation  of 
rebel  Scots  into  various  parts  of  the  kingdom,  and  lnchiquin’s 
desertion  to  that  party  with  the  army  at  his  command.  “ He 
was  bad  and  very  bad  as  a Royalist,  what  will  he  be  as  a coven- 
anting rebel  1” 

“ Could  you  but  deal  with  Monroe  in  Ulster,”  said  some  of  the 
lords  to  Owen  Roe,  “ so  that  he  may  not  league  with  Inchiquin 
and  Broghill  in  the  south  for  our  destruction  !” 

“ I know  not  that  I could  meet  him  single-handed  at  the 
present  time,”  said  Owen  ; “ thanks  to  your  Cessation,  my  army 
is  not  what  it  was  a year  ago — very  far  from  it.” 

“ What  is  to  be  done,  then  V’  said  Lord  Netterville  curtly. 

“ Can  you  think  of  nothing,  general'?”  inquired  Mountgarret 
anxiously. 

O’Neill  paused  a moment,  then  said  with  some  hesitation, 
“ could  you  spare  me  some  assistance  now  V ’ 

“ How  much  would  you  think  needful  V’ 


Meehan’s  Confederation , p.  80. 


340 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Say  four  or  five  thousand  foot,  and  as  many  hundreds  of 
cavalry.” 

“ You  shall  have  it !”  was  the  prompt  reply,  and  orders  were 
immediately  issued  for  the  equipment  of  such  a force  for 
Ulster. 

Owen  Roe,  with  all  his  calmness  and  indifference  to  selfish 
objects,  was  no  little  pleased  with  the  thought  that  he  should 
return  to  his  own  Province  at  the  head  of  a trained  and  disci- 
plined force,  which,  united  with  what  he  could  muster  at  home, 
would  place  him  in  a position  to  advance  against  Monroe  with- 
out further  delay.  Dispatches  from  home  urged  his  return, 
one  of  them  from  Judith  O’Cahan,  who  saw  with  alarm  the 
daily-increasing  power  of  the  Scots,  and  feared,  not  without 
reason,  a general  massacre  at  their  hands.  Yet  day  after  day 
Owen  lingered  in  Kilkenny,  hoping  that  the  next  would  see 
him  under  orders  for  the  north  with  his  Leinster  auxiliaries. 

At  length  the  wished-for  summons  came  to  appear  before  the 
Council,  and  with  a beating  heart  Owen  Roe  obeyed.  He  stood 
before  the  lords  and  gentlemen  in  their  hall,  and  heard  from 
the  lips  of  Lord  Mountgarrct  the  grave  announcement  that  Lord 
Castlehaven  had  kindly  consented  to  take  the  command  of  the 
Ulster  army.  Tirlogh  O’Neill  started  quickly  from  his  seat, 
anxious  to  explain  that  the  appointment  was  not  made  with  his 
will,  or  that  of  “ any  gentleman  of  the  Council,  of  Irish 
blood.” 

Owen  Roe  silenced  his  friend  by  a gesture  full  of  dignity, 
then  turning,  he  bowed  to  the  Assembly. 

“ It  is  well,  lords  and  gentlemen  of  the  Council ! — far  be  it 
from  me  to  say  otherwise,  seeing  that  my  lord  of  Castlehaven  hath 
won  such  good  repute  in  this  wrar.  If  he  be  but  one-half  as  suc- 
cessful in  Ulster  as  elsewhere  I shall  be  well  content.  An’  the 
Council  have  any  commands  for  me  I would  have  them,  by 
nightfall,  a^  I leave  town  early  to-morrow.  Master  Tirlogh 
O’Neill,  I would  see  you  this  evening  at  my  lodgings  in  Patrick 
street — till  then,  God  be  with  you.” 

Significant  looks  were  exchanged  amongst  the  Norman  lords  as 
the  chieftain  strode  with  a stately  step  down  the  hall.  Many 
amongst  them  feared  for  the  result  of  this  ill-advised  step,  and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


341 


some  were  even  for  recalling  O’Neill,  and  cancelling  the  appoint- 
ment in  his  favor. 

A heavy  load  was,  therefore,  taken  from  their  hearts  when 
they  heard  that  from  the  Council-hall,  General  O'Neill  had 
repaired  to  the  lodgings  of  Castlehaven,  and  frankly  congratu- 
lated the  peer  on  his  new  appointment.* 

* Castehaven’s  Memoirs , p.  46. 


342 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


chapter  xxyii. 

Now  one’s  the  better — then  the  other  best, 

Both  tugging  to  be  victor,  breast  to  breast; 

Yet  neither  conqueror  or  is  conquer’d, 

So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war.” 

Shakespeare. 


“ Thou  need’st  not  tell  it ; he  is  dead. 
God  help  us  all  this  day  !” 


Ayjston. 


The  appointment  of  Castlehaven  to  the  command  of  the  Ulster 
auxiliaries  took  plaee  early  in  May,  1645,  and  the  two  following 
months  of  that  summer  were  stirring  and  eventful  ones  for  the 
Confederate  Catholics.  Owen  Roe  returned  immediately  to  his 
camp  at  Portlester  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Leinster  troops, 
hut  their  coming  was  more  tardy  than  he  expected,  for  the 
Supreme  Council  had  found  it  necessary  to  dispatch  Castlehaven 
to  Connaught,  in  the  first  place,  to  reduce  some  refractory 
parties  who  would  not  submit  to  the  Cessation.  It  was  July 
before  the  Earl  was  at  liberty  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  north- 
ern Province,  and  then  he  marched  to  Granard,  in  the  county 
of  Longford,  with  what  forces  he  had  at  his  command,  the  remain- 
ing portion  of  the  army  destined  for  Ulster  being  ordered  to 
meet  him  there.  He  had  hardly  reached  Granard,  however, 
when  the  news  of  Monroe’s  advance  at  the  head  of  a powerful 
army  caused  him  to  fall  back  hastily  on  Portlester,  where  he 
formed  a junction  with  O’Neill. 

Monroe  was  not  so  near  as  Castlehaven  had  been  informed, 
and  the  army  was  preparing  to  march  northward  in  order  to 
check,  if  possible,  his  devastating  course,  when  all  at  once  it 
was  found  that'  detachments  of  his  force  were  approaching  in 
different  directions,  stripping  the  country  as  they  advanced  of 
everything  in  the  shape  of  provisions.  The  Confederates  imme- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


343 


diafcely  sent  out  parties  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  enemy,  and 
so  it  happened  that  a line  was  formed  by  the  advanced  posts  of 
either  army — while  the  main  body,  of  the  Scots  especially,  was 
far  behind.  They  at  length  approached  each  other  so  closely 
that  continual  skirmishing  was  going  on  with  varying  success, 
whilst  the  two  Confederate  generals  were  concerting  means  to 
check  the  progress  of  Monroe.  Still  there  was  far  from  being  that 
cordial  unanimity  between  them  that  might  have  been  expected 
from  such  close  identity  of  interests. 

It  so  happened  that  Owen  Roe  was  attacked  by  a sudden  in- 
disposition on  the  very  eve  of  a rather  serious  engagement,  in 
which  the  Confederates  suffered  severely.  When  the  news 
reached  Owen  on  his  sick-bed,  and  the  particulars  were  made 
known  to  him,  he  started  to  his  feet,  and  though  still  far  from 
being  well,  he  hastened  to  Lord  Castlehaven’s  quarters. 

“ What  is  this  I hear,  my  lord  I”  said  O’Neill  in  an  agitated 
voice. 

“ That  you  ought  to  know  best,  General  O’Neill !”  said  the 
peer  coldly.  He  was  engaged  at  the  moment  in  conversation 
with  some  of  his  officers. 

“ Most  likely  your  lordship  knows  it,  too,”  said  Owen  with  in- 
creasing agitation  ; “ how  came  it  to  pass,  I ask  you,  that  in 
this  late  affair,  your  officers  stood  by — ay  ! even  yon  cowardly 
cock  with  the  feather,”  pointing  to  a certain  Colonel  Fennell 
who  had  been  in  command  of  the  party,  “ whilst  my  kinsmen 
were  cut  to  pieces  by  the  enemy  1 How  was  it,  I ask  you,  Lord 
Castlehaven  1” 

“ Verily  I cannot  say,”  replied  the  Earl  with  the  coolest  in- 
difference; “your  people  might  have  been  somewhat  rash, 
or ” 

“Not  so,  my  lord,  not  so,”  said  the  Ulster  general  with  more 
anger  than  he  was  ever  known  to  manifest ; “ not  so,  but  your 
people — or  rather  your  officers — were  cowards— base,  skulking, 
heartless  cowards,  else  had  they  not  looked  coldly  on  whilst  my 
brave  O’Neills  were  butchered — as  for  that  Fennell ” 

“ Cowards,  General  O’Neill ! have  a cgre  what  you  say — Col- 
onel Fennell  is  an  officer  well  esteemed ■” 

“ I tell  you,  my  lord,  he  is  an  arrant  coward,  and  since  you 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS, 


344 


refuse  to  censure  his  conduct,  he  shall  answer  for  it  to  the  Su- 
preme Council  in  whose  service  we  are  all  engaged — let  him 
stand  forward  here  and  deny,  if  he  dare,  the  truth  of  what  I have 
stated.” 

But  Fennell  had  disappeared,  and  Castlehaven,  to  cover  his 
retreat,  muttered  something  about  having  given  him  a commis- 
sion. 

“ It  is  very  well,  my  lord,”  said  O'Neill  sternly ; “I  am  then 
to  understand  that  there  is  no  redress  to  be  expected  from  you 
— as  I have  said,  it  must  be  sought  elsewhere.  Fennell  and  even 
your  lordship  may  find  out  that  the  life  of  a Tyr-Owen  clans- 
man is  worth  as  much  as  that  of  a Leinsterraan.  O’Neills  have 
good  memories,  too,  my  fine  friend,  and  they  cannot  but  see 
now  what  value  you  set  on  their  lives,  and  in  what  account  you 
hold  their  friendship.  Depend  upon  it,  James  Touchet,  we  will 
keep  this  day’s  work  in  mind.” 

“ With  all  my  heart,  O’Neill,”  said  the  peer  with  a disdainful 
smile.  “ An’  your  clansmen  be  not  able  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, they  are  ill  worth  fighting  for.” 

Such  being  the  spirit  in  which  the  two  generals  entered  upon 
that  Ulster  campaign,  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  their  chances 
of  success  were  much  diminished.  Still  they  bore  it  bravely, 
one  and  the  other,  in  presence  of  the  enemy,  and  although  their 
forces  were  far  inferior  to  those  of  the  Scottish  general  in  point 
of  numbers,  the  latter  was  fain  to  retreat  back  to  the  far  north 
without  coming  to  any  decisive  engagement.  Owen  Roe  had 
his  head-quarters  at  Belturbet,  and  Castlehaven  his  at  Charle- 
mont,  they  had  also  a strong  fort  and  a magazine  at  Tanderagee, 
so  that  their  lines  extended  over  the  greater  portion  of  central 
Ulster.  Their  chief  force  was,  however,  concentrated  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Charlemont,  Monroe’s  army  hovering  like  a 
dark  storm-cloud  on  the  northern  horizon. 

At  length  the  Scottish  general  advanced  to  the  very  banks  of 
the  Blaekwater,  and  there  he  lay  full  in  sight  of  the  Confederates 
with  the  main  body  of  his  army  far  outnumbering  theirs.  It 
was  a curious  sight  to  see  the  rival  hosts  reposing  on  the  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  old  historic  stream,  watching  each  other’s  move- 
ments like  two  surly  mastiffs,  each  one  fearful  of  disturbing  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


345 


other  by  the  slightest  motion.  As  regarded  Castlehaven  this 
caution  was  no  more  than  what  prudence  required,  seeing  that 
his  numbers  were  so  far  inferior,  but  that  Monroe,  with  his  vast 
army,  should  hesitate  about  risking  a battle  showed  a craven 
and  cowardly  spirit — quite  consistent  with  the  man’s  love  of 
carnage.  Monroe,  it  is  plain,  had  a special  vocation  for  cutting  up 
detached  parties,  but  none  whatever  for  meeting  the  Confederate 
soldiers  in  pitched  battles.  Castlehaven’s  officers  made  merry 
over  the  matter  for  some  days,  and  then  the  soldiers  becoming 
impatient  at  the  dela^,  the  general  resolved  to  cross  the  river 
and  attack  the  enemy’s  quarters.  All  that  night  the  Irish  army 
was  in  gay  commotion  expecting  that  the  morrow  would 
bring  the  long  wished-for  day  of  vengeance.  The  morrow 
came,  the  summer  dawn  crimsoned  the  wooded  shores  of 
the  Blackwater;  the  far-spreading  plains  and  the  distant  moun- 
tains of  Tyrone  were  gradually  revealed  in  the  early  sunbeam, 
but  Castlehaven’s  soldiers  looked  in  vam  for  the  Scotch  batta- 
lions whose  dark  outline  had  for  days  lain  motionless  before 
them.  Unseen  were  their  grazing  steeds  by  the  river,  unheard 
the  roll  of  their  morning  drums ; they  had  vanished  during 
the  night,  Monroe  and  his  seventeen  thousand,  and  the  Con- 
federates were  left  to  keep  watch  alone  over  the  passes  of  the 
Blackwater  ! Monroe  had  merely  waited  to  collect  what  pro- 
visions he  could  on  his  own  side  the  river,  and  then  made  the 
best  of  his  way  back  to  his  old  quarters  at  Carrickfergus. 

This  was  esteemed  a great  triumph  by  Castlehaven,  who, 
with  characteristic  self-conceit,  took  the  whole  credit  to  him- 
self, and  boasted  that  Monroe  had  feared  to  .encounter  him. 
Owen  Roe  listened  with  a contemptuous  smile,  and  said  in  a 
tone  of  good-humored  raillery : 

“Whether  was  it  from  our  united  army,  or  your  lordship’s 
puissant  arm,  that  the  Scotch  earl  made  his  escape  1 I think 
my  Rapparees  even  had  somewhat  to  do  with  it,  they  have 
kept  buzzing  like  angry  wasps  on  the  outskirts  of  his  army, 
stinging  where  they  saw  an  opening,  so  that  the  thick  hides  of 
the  Scotch  must  be  well  blistered  ere  now.  As  for  you 
and  me,  my  lord,  it  be  time  enough  to  boast  when  we  have 
done  something.  We  must  follow  Monroe.*’ 


346 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ When  you  have  furnished  your  promised  supplies,  O’Neill, 
not  sooner.” 

“ Hath  not  my  army  done  its  share  of  the  fighting  since  you 
came  into  Ulster  V1  demanded  Owen.  “ Have  not  my  men  home 
the  brunt1?” 

“ Truly  they  have  fought  well  for  their  numbers,”  said  the 
Earl  carelessly,  “ but  what  with  your  creaghis  and  herds  of 
cattle,  and  such  like,  your  men  have  had  their  hands  full ” 

“ My  herds  of  cattle  are  small  in  number,  surely,”  said  Owen 
with  his  calm  smile,  “ an’  my  men  did  no  more  than  keep  yours 
fed — it  was  not  amiss.  As  for  the  creaghts,  you  would  not 
have  us  leave  our  women  and  children  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  Puritans  V’ 

“ Not  so,  but  surely  there  be  more  men  in  your  country  than 
those  we  see  in  your  ranks.  An’  there  be  not,  I have  small 
hopes  of  making  head  against  the  Scotch.” 

But  O’Neill  had  small  hopes  of  immediate  success — he  saw 
clearly  that  if  the  Puritans  were  ever  to  be  driven  from  Ulster 
it  was  not  Castlehaven  or  the  soldiers  of  the  Pale  that  were 
likely  to  do  it,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  husband  his  own 
resources  and  apply  himself  once  more  to  gather  together  the 
scattered  clans  and  prepare  them  for  one  desperate  struggle. 

Events,  meanwhile,  were  transpiring  which  gave  a new  turn 
to  the  affairs  of  the  Confederates,  and  made  Castlehaven  draw 
off  his  forces  with  all  haste  from  Ulster  while  he  himself  re- 
paired to  Kilkenny  much  disturbed  in  mind.  The  Council  was 
sitting  at  the  time,  and  as  the  Earl’s  quick  eye  glanced  around 
the  room  he  speedily  detected  the  presence  of  a stranger,  a 
man  of  noble  mien  and  courtly  manners,  who  occupied  a seat 
near  the  President. 

“ Give  us  joy,  my  lord,”  said  Mountgarret,  “ we  are  at  last  in 
a fair  way  of  having  peace — the  king’s  most  gracious  majesty 
hath  been  pleased  to  move  in  the  matter,  and  here  is  my  lord  of 
Glamorgan  duly  accredited  from  him  to  treat  with  us  there 
upon.’’ 

“ How  ! Lord  Herbert  of  Glamorgan,  son  of  the  loyal  and  va- 
liant Marquis  of  Worcester,  who  hath  done  such  good  service  to 
the  king  1” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


347 


“ The  same,”  said  Glamorgan,  rising  and  bowing  with  a grati- 
fied smile, 

•'*  Then  am  I well  pleased  to  see  you  here,”  said  the  peer ; 
“ there  be  no  man  in  all  England,  an’  report  speak  truly,  more 
fit  to  treat  between  his  grace’s  highness  and  his  Catholic  sub- 
jects of  Ireland.” 

“ It  is  Lord  Castlehaven  who  speaks,”  said  Mountgarret,  turn- 
ing to  the  English  lord,  “ the  Earl  of  Castlehaven,  a brave  and 
noble  gentleman,  right  well  affected  towards  the  peace.” 

“ It  were  strange  an’  I had  not  heard  of  his  lordship,”  said 
Glamorgan,  and  thereupon  the  two  noblemen  exchanged  bows, 
and  the  most  perfect  understanding  from  that  moment  existed 
between  them. 

“ I would  ask  your  lordship,”  said  the  aggd  primate,  Hugh 
O’Neill,  “ hath  his  majesty  lost  his  confidence  in  the  great  mar- 
quis that  he  deemed  it  expedient  to  send  an  envoy  extraordinary!’ 
“ Not  so,  most  reverend  lord,”  said  Glamorgan  hastily,  “ my 
lord  of  Ormond  is  still  one  of  the  foremost  in  the  king’s  favor, 
but  being  a staunch  Protestant  he  cannot  have  that  sympathy 
with  the  Confederates  which  would  move  him  to  consider  their 
claims  with  intent  to  give  satisfaction.  He  desires  peace  on 
certain  conditions  not  at  all  favorable  to  the  Catholics — whereat 
the  king  my  master  desires  it  on  any  terms.  The  good  service 
done  in  Scotland  by  your  men  sent  over  to  Montrose  hath  been 

most  acceptable  to  his  grace ” 

“ It  had  much  need,  my  lord  earl,”  quoth  Tirlogh  O’Neill, 
“ seeing  that  it  hath  drawn  upon  us  the  full  fury  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary rebels.  Had  Colkitto  and  my  lord  of  Antrim  left  the 
Graham  to  make  shift  with  his  Highlanders,  Monroe  had  not 
been  roused  from  his  lair  and  set  upon  us,  nor  Inchiquin  bought 
over  to  betray  his  king,  Marry,  my  Lord  Glamorgan,  it  was  a 
stretch  of  generosity  on  the  part  of  this  honorable  Council  to 
send  some  of  its  best  regiments  to  serve  a king  who — ahem  ! I 
respect  him  and  will  say  no  more.” 

It  appeared  on  further  examination  that  Lord  Glamorgan  was 
vested  with  the  most  ample  power  to  treat  with  the  Confede- 
rates, and  to  make  peace  with  them,  as  he  said,  “ on  any 
terms.”  His  royal  master  was  at  length  fully  sensible  that 


348 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


instead  of  being  rebels  to  bis  authority  the  Catholics  of  Ireland 
were  his  only  hope  after  the  loyal  cavaliers  of  England.  He 
had  found  to  his  heavy  cost  that  the  Irish  Protestants,  even 
those  who  had  been  serving  in  Ormond’s  army,  were  far  from 
being  devoted  to  his  interest,*  whilst  the  Catholics,  notwith- 
standing their  many  grievances,  were  true  as  the  steel  of  their 
bayonets.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  king’s  secret  senti- 
ments with  regard  to  his  Catholic  subjects,  his  necessities  were 
too  urgent  to  allow  him  any  further  indulgence  of  bigotry  in  his 
dealings  with  them,  and  he  was  forced  to  throw  himself,  as  it 
were,  on  their  generosity,  counting  largely,  it  must  be  confessed, 
on  their  Christian  forgiveness. 

It  was  stern  necessity  that  drew  from  Charles  Stuart  such 
articles  of  peace  as  those  submitted  that  day  in  his  name  to  the 
Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland  who  were  but  too  willing  to 
meet  his  advances.  They  had  been  just  discussing  the  terms 
of  a permanent  treaty  proposed  by  Ormond,  in  which  that  wily 
statesman  was  fain  to  withhold  from  them  those  rights  which 
their  swords  had  for  the  present  secured  to  them,  how  great 
then  was  their  joy  when  they  found  the  so  much  wished-for 
peace  placed  within  their  reach  by  their  sovereign  himself  on 
Such  terms  as  they  hardly  dared  propose  to  his  Protestant 
viceroy. 

These  were  the  terms  agreed  to  by  Lord  Glamorgan  on  the 
part  of  the  king  : 

“ I.  That  all  the  professors  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in 
Ireland  shall  enjoy  the  free  and  public  use  and  exercise  of  their 
religion. 

“ II.  That  they  shall  hold  and  enjoy  all  the  churches  by  them 
enjoyed,  or  by  them  possessed,  at  any  time  since  the  23d  of 

* Of  the  regiments  sent  over  to^Chester  by  Ormond  during  the 
Cessation,  Borlase,  in  his  History  of  the  Irish  Insurrection,  says  : 
“ Such  was  the  reluctancy  of  the  common  soldiers  that  the  sharpest 
proclamations  hardly  restrained  them  from  flying  their  colors,  both 
before  and  after  their  arrival  in  England.”  The  Irish  Catholics,  on 
the  contrary,  who  enlisted  in  the  king’s  service,  were  faithful  and 
true  to  the  very  last. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


349 


October,  1G41,  and  all  otlier  churches  in  the  said  kingdom,  other 
than  such  a3  are  now  actually  enjoyed  by  his  Majesty’s  Pro- 
testant suhjects. 

“ III.  That  all  the  Roman  Catholics  shall  be  exempted  from 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  Protestant  clergy,  and  that  the  Catholic 
clergy  shall  not  be  punished  or  molested  for  the  exercise  of 
their  jurisdiction  over  their  respective  flocks.  And,  also,  that 
an  act  shall  be  passed  in  the  next  parliament  for  securing  to 
them  all  the  king’s  concessions. 

“IV.  That  the  Marquis  of  Ormond,  or  any  others,  shall  not 
disturb  the  professors  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  posses- 
sion of  the  articles  above  specified. 

“ V.  The  Earl  of  Glamorgan  engages  his  majesty’s  word  for 
the  performance  of  these  articles. 

“VI.  That  the  public  faith  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  engaged 
unto  the  said  Earl  by  the  commissioners  of  the  Confederate 
Catholics,  for  sending  10,000  men  by  order  and  declaration  of 
the  General  Assembly  at  Kilkenny,  armed,  the  one-half  with 
muskets,  and  the  other  half  with  pikes,  to  serve  his  majesty  in 
England,  Wales,  or  Scotland,  under  the  command  of  the  said 
Glamorgan,  as  lord  general  of  the  said  army ; which  army  is  to 
be  kept  together  in  one  entire  body,  and  all  other  the  officers 
and  commanders  of  the  said  army  are  to  be  named  by  the 
Supreme  Council  of  the  said  Confederate  Catholics,  or  by  such 
others  as  the  General  Assembly  of  the  said  Confederate  Catho- 
lics of  Ireland  shall  entrust  therewith.” 

Such  was  the  treaty  signed  on  the  part  of  the  Confederates 
by  their  commissioners,  Richard,  Lord  Viscount  Mountgarret, 
and  Donogh,  Lord  Muskerry.  A copy  of  its  articles  had  pre- 
viously been  submitted  to  each  of  the  leading  members  of  the 
Council.  The  hopes  it  held  out  were  bright  and  beautiful,  but 
they  vanished,  like  the  roseate  blush  of  dawn.  For  very  spe- 
cious reasons  advanced  by  the  Earl  the  treaty  was  not  made 
public,  and  the  Confederates  went  on  fighting  the  rebellious 
Puritans,  and  religiously  observing  the  Cessation  with  Ormond, 
further  extended  to  the  December  following. 

News  had  by  this  time  arrived  of  tflk  death  of  the  good  Pope 
Urban  VIII.,  and  the  accession  of  Innocent  X.  to  the  papal 


350 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


throne.  Anxious  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  new  Pontiff,  and 
enlist  his  sympathies  in  their  cause,  the  Supreme  Council  dis- 
patched their  secretary,  Richard  Belling,  to  Rome  to  congratu- 
late his  Holiness,  and  at  the  same  time  to  report  the  progress 
of  affairs  to  their  faiihful  agent,  Father  Luke  Wadding.  That 
Innocent  X.  took  no  less  interest  in  the  struggle  going  on  in 
Ireland  than  his  predecessor,  succeeding  events  w ill  show. 

Meanwhile,  the  Confederates  were  alarmed,  and  not  without 
reason,  by  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  Parliamentary  forces 
in  Ireland.  They  had  hoped  that  Ormond  would  unite  with 
them  during  the  Cessation  in  resisting  the  progress  of  these 
worse  than  rebels,  from  whose  fanatical  fury  neither  age,  sex, 
nor  condition  was  safe.  Where  they  conquered,  indiscriminate 
slaughter  followed,  for  the  extermination  of  the  Papists  was 
their  avowed  object.  Ruthless,  gaunt,  and  terrible  as  hungry 
wolves,  the  Puritans  rushed  on  their  prey,  intent  only  on  des- 
truction. Such  were  the  soldiers  of  the  Covenant,  and  Ormond 
knew  it  well — he  knew  they  were  bent  on  uprooting  that  mon- 
archy which  he  professed  to  uphold,  and  yet  so  far  from  assist- 
ing the  Confederates  to  oppose  them,  he  secretly  abetted  their 
designs  as  far,  at  least,  as  Catholics  were  concerned.  Thus  it 
was  that  while  Mountgarret  and  Muskerry,  and  Father  Peter 
Walsh,  and  all  the  rest  of  that  faction  were  blindly  playing  into 
the  hands  of  the  new  Lord  Lieutenant,  he  was  coquetting  at  the 
same  time  with  Broghill  and  Inchiquin.  Whilst  his  royal  master 
was  urging  him  by  every  means  to  conciliate  the  Confederate 
Catholics,  and  conclude  a permanent  peace  with  them,  he  was 
raising  objections  to  their  just  demands,  and  excusing  himself 
under  one  pretence  and  another  from  joining  them  against  the 
Puritans.  Many  fine  promises  were  made  by  him,  and  to 
believe  Father  Peter  Walsh,  nothing  was  so  near  his  heart  as 
the  overthrow  of  the  Puritans ; but,  nevertheless,  things  went 
on  as  they  were,  the  Parliamentarians  steadily  gaining  ground, 
the  Confederates  scrupulously  observing  the  C essation  with  the 
king’s  troops,*  and  maintaining  the  war  against  the  king’s  ene- 
mies and  their  own. 

* 

* So  strict  were  they  in  the  observance  of  the  truce  that  Lieuten- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


351 


Whilst  the  Council  was  still  rejoicing  over  the  concessions 
made  by  the  king,  word  was  brought  that  Sligo  had  been  taken 
by  the  northern  Scotch  under  Stewart,  and  was  by  him  held  for 
the  Parliament.  No  news  could  be  more  unwelcome  at  that 
moment,  for  Sligo  was  on  the  direct  road  to  Galway,  and  Galway 
was  one  of  the  principal  strongholds  in  possession  of  the  Confede- 
rates. All  was  fear  and  consternation  in  Kilkenny,  for  the  safety 
of  all  Connaught  was  now  at  stake.  The  altars  so  lately  re- 
covered, the  temples  so  carefully  adorned  and  beautified,  all,  all- 
were  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  fanatic,  and  must  be  protected 
at  any  cost. 

Sir  James  Dillon  was  ordered  to  proceed  immediately  to  the 
relief  of  Sligo  with  what  forces  were  available  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Kilkenny,  but,  alas  ! they  were  far  short  of  the  numbers 
necessary  for  that  perilous  enterprize.  What  they  lacked  in 
numbers,  however,  they  made  up  in  courage  and  resolution,  and 
their  enthusiasm  knew  no  bounds  when  the  venerable  and  pa- 
triotic Archbishop  of  Tuam  placed  himself  at  their  head. 

In  vain  did  his  brethren  of  the  episcopacy  and  even  the  lay- 
lords  seek  to  dissuade  him  from  risking  a life  so  precious. 

“ Think  you,  my  lords,”  said  the  heroic  prelate,  “ I could 
leave  my  poor  people  under  the  hoof  of  Stewart  and  Hamilton — 
no,  no,  Sligo  must  be  relieved,  come  what  may,  that  is  to  say, 
we  must  make  the  attempt,  and  should  it  please  God  that  we 
fail,  Malachy  O’Kelly  you  will  see  no  more.  Would  to  Heaven 
that  the  sacrifice  of  so  poor  a life  could  deliver  Sligo,  or  stop  the 
murderous  career  of  the  Puritans — oh ! freely,  freely  were  it 
given !” 

What  could  be  said  to  such  a man  at  such  a moment — his 
brother  bishops  could  only  breathe  a silent  prayer  for  his 
safety  and  watch  his  departure  with  beating  hearts.  So  he 
girded  on  his  sword  to  do  battle  for  the  faith,  and  took  his 
place  by  Dillon’s  side  amid  the  cheers  and  prayers  and  tears  of 
those  who  remained  behind.  His  example  was  eagerly  fol- 
lowed by  several  clergymen  belonging  to  his  archdiocese,  who 
were  proud  of  taking  up  arms  in  so  holy  a cause. 

ant-General  Purcell  was  sent  to  chastise  some  of  their  own  number 
who  had  violated  its  articles. 


352 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Not  many  of  those  who  marched  from  Kilkenny  that  day  ever 
returned  within  its  walls.  A few  days  after,  whilst  the  whole 
city  was  in  a fever  of  anxiety  to  know  the  result  of  the  expedi- 
tion, a small  party  of  cavalry  approached  the  walls  with  Sir 
James  Dillon  at  their  head,  almost  every  man  hearing  more  or 
less  the  marks  of  bloody  conflict.  Nor  banner,  nor  music  had 
they,  nor  baggage  of  any  kind,  and  it  needed  not  words  to  de- 
clare what  their  wan,  dejected  faces  and  doleful  plight  told  all 
too  well. 

ft  ews  of  battle ! who  hath  brought  it  ? 

All  are  thronging  to  the  gate  ; 

“ Warder— warder  ! open  quickly 
Man — is  this  a time  to  wait  V1 

And  the  heavy  gates  are  opened 
Then  a murmur  long  and  loud, 

And  a cry  of  fear  and  wonder 

Bursts  from  out  the  bending  crowd. 

“ Silence !”  cried  the  stern  voice  of  Mountgarret  as  he  and 
Lord  Glamorgan,  with  some  other  lords  and  gentlemen,  dashed 
up  at  a gallop  ; “ Sir  James  Dillon,  this  is  a dreary  sight — where 
have  you  left  the  Archbishop 

“ He  hath  won  the  martyr’s  crown,  my  lord,”  was  the  sad 
reply,  “ cut  to  pieces  was  he  by  the  swords  of  Hamilton’s  troopers 
— a little  way  from  the  walls  of  Sligo — with  his  priests  around 
him  faithful  to  the  last.” 

Wo,  wo,  and  lamentation  ! 

What  a piteous  cry  was  there  ! 

Widows,  maidens,  mothers,  children, 

Shrieking,  sobbing  in  despair  !* 

“ Good  Heavens ! Sir  James,  and  you  shame  not  to  tell  that 
you  left  him  there — left  his  consecrated  body  a prey  to  the 
rage  of  the  fanatic 

“ You  would  not  reproach  us,  Lord  Mountgarret,”  said  Dillon 
mournfully,  “ an’  you  knew  but  all.  We  had  made  our  way  into 

* Aynton’s  Lays  qf  the  Scottish  Cavaliers. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


353 


the  town  over  heaps  of  the  dead  and  dying.  His  Grace  of  Tuam 
fighting  like  a hero  in  the  van,  and  the  townspeople  thronging  to 
our  assistance,  Sligo  would  soon  have  been  ours,  when,  probably, 
by  a sharp  device  of  the  enemy,  drums  and  fifes  were  heard  in 
the  distance,  and  the  terrible  cry  of  ‘ Coote'  to  the  rescue  V 
resounded  through  the  streets  above  the  din  of  battle.  Fearful 
of  seeing  our  brave  fellows  attacked  front  and  rear  by  the  Puri- 
tans, in  which  case  their  destruction  was  inevitable,  the  Arch- 
bishop commanded  a retreat — we  retired  accordingly  with  our 
face  f<o  the  foe,  fighting  every  inch  of  the  way,  but,  alas ! the 
terror  of  Coote  had  taken  possession  of  our  soldiers,  and,  think- 
ing every  moment  that  he  was  on  their  rear  with  his  fierce  blood- 
hounds, a panic  ran  through  the  ranks,  the  stout  arms  lost  their 
strength — horse  -and  foot  began  to  waver,  the  enemy  saw  it 
and  pressed  us  more  closely,  the  cry  of  ‘ Coote ! Coote  !’  ringing 
in  our  ears  from  behind — back,  back  to  the  gates — out  through 
them  in  wild  disorder,  and  by  the  time  the  outside  was  gained, 
all  authority  was  at  an  end.  A general  rout  followed,  and  our 
heroic  Archbishop,  disdaining  to  fly,  was  cut  to  pieces  with  his 
priests  who  gathered  around  him  in  the  vain  hope  of  saving  his 
life.  For  us,  my  lords,”  he  said  proudly,  as  soon  as  the  cries  of 
the  multitude  permitted  his  voice  to  be  heard,  “For  us — the 
sad  survivors  of  that  fatal  fray — I say  not  what  we  did — suffice 
it  that  our  numbers  had  not  been  so  few  were  it  not  for  the 
repeated  efforts  made  to  recover  the  Archbishop’s  body.” 

“ Heaven  help  us  all  this  day !’’  said  Mountgarret  with  a 
heavy  sigh  ; “ who  can  wonder,  my  Lord  Glamorgan,  that  we  of 
the  Council  long  for  peace.  He  was  ever  opposed  to  it,  and 
see  what  thing  hath  come  upon  him.” 

Of  course  it  was  Lord  Glamorgan’s  interest  to  coincide  fully 
with  the  aged  President,  and  to  represent  the  calamitous  death 
of  the  Archbishop  as  a judgment  from  Heaven  on  those  who 
kept  the  people  from  returning  to  their  allegiance.  There  was 
none  present  there  to  gainsay  so  foul  a calumny  on  the  dead. 

Far  different  were  the  feelings  of  O’Neill  and  McMahon,  and 
the  other  Irish  members  of  the  Council,  when  the  doleful  tidings 
reached  them.  Not  to  speak  of  the  loss  of  that  powerful  and 
influential  prelate  whose  strong  and  vigorous  mind  had  exercised 


354 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


a salutary  control  over  the  temporizing  Norman  lords,  as  his 
fervent  piety  and  sterling  patriotism  commanded  the  respect  of 
all,  there  was  the  maddening  thought  that  he  had  fallen  by  the 
hands  of  the  Puritan  butchers,  his  consecrated  remains  hacked 
and  mutilated  to  glut  their  diabolical  hatred.  He  that  was  ever 
first  to  feel  for  their  wrongs— he  that  had  been  so  moved  but 
late  by  the  judicial  murder  of  Maguire  and  McMahon,  he  that 
had  never  spared  himself  to  advance  the  common  weal,  that  ho 
should  have  been  abandoned  in  his  last  moments  to  the  fury  of 
the  murdering  Scotch,  while  so  many  thousands  of  his  faithful 
people  were  in  arms  the  country  ov  er — oh ! it  was  torture  to 
think  of  it,  and  the  hot-headed  chiefs  of  the  Gael,  few  as  they 
were  in  that  assembly,  raised  such  a commotion  that  Glamorgan 
and  the  Ormondists  were  alarmed  for  the  peace.  The  bishops 
were  less  noisy  in  the  manifestation  of  their  grief,  but  they  felt 
their  loss  most  sensibly.  They,  nevertheless,  regarded  the  fate 
of  their  departed  brother  as  enviable,  now  that  the  bitterness  of 
deatn  was  past,  and  the  palm  of  martyrdom  gloriously  won. 
So  they  celebrated  his  obsequies  with  all  the  solemn  pomp  befit- 
ting the  occasion,  in  the  old  Cathedral  of  St.  Canice,  the  aged 
bishop  of  Ossory  presiding  at  the  altar,  while  bishops  and  arch- 
bishops, and  stoled  priests  without  number,  joined  in  the  funeral 
chant,  and  the  armed  Confederates  who  thronged  nave  and  aisle 
made  the  responses  sound  like  the  growl  of  distant  thunder. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Malachy  O’Killy,  Archbishop  of  Tuam, 
one  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  Confederation — another  martyr 
to  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice  ! 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


355 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

“ Oh ! names  like  his  bright  beacons  are 
To  realms  that  kings  oppress, 

Hailing  with  radiant  light  from  far 
Their  signals  of  distress.” 

Spirit  qf  the  Nation. 

It  was  the  thirteenth  day  of  November,  1645,  and  the  old  city 
of  Kilkenny  was  again  in  motion.  The  gloom  and  horror  of  the 
Archbishop’s  death  had  passed  away — its  memory  unefFaced, 
but  covered  over  by  newer  impressions — and  the  citizens  were 
again  crowding  the  streets  with  eager,  expectant  faces,  and  the 
sounds  of  joy  were  heard  on  every  side.  The  city  once  more 
wore  its  holyday  garb,  and  even  the  glories  of  that  day,  four 
years  gone  by,  when  the  Confederation  took  life  and  form,  were 
eclipsed  by  the  splendor  of  this  new  occasion.  From  the  earli- 
est hours  of  the  morning  crowds  were  hurrying  from  all  direc- 
tions within  and  without  the  walls  towards  St.  Patrick’s  Gate, 
and  there  they  patiently  stood  regardless  of  the  drizzling  rain 
which  all  day  long  streamed  down  incessantly. 

Just  outside  the  wall,  close  by  St.  Patrick’s  Gate,  was  then 
situate  the  old  Church  of  St.  Patrick,  where  a new  one  of  the 
same  name  now  “ rears  the  cross  on  high.”  The  hour  of  noon 
was  not  far  off,  when  on  a sudden  the  bell  of  the  Black  Abbey 
rung  out  a joyous  peal,  answered  quickly  by  the  Church  of  St. 
Francis.  Forth  at  once  from  the  gray  old  Church  outside  the 
gate  issued  in  long  procession  the  regular  and  secular  clergy  of 
the  city,  heading  towards  the  gate,  and  preceded  by  the  gor- 
geous banners  of  their  respective  orders.  A joyous  stir  was 
visible  amongst  the  multitude,  and  cries  of  “ he  comes ! he 
comes!”  rang  through  the  crowded  streets,  caught  up  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  old  gate,  and 
presently  appeared  from  under  its  arch  a sight  that  made  every 
heart  thrill,  and  brought  tears  of  joy  from  many  an  eve.  Sur- 


356 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


rounded  by  the  noblest  gentlemen  of  tbe  country,  amongst  whom 
was  conspicuous  Richard  Butler,  Lord  Netterville,  and  Rich- 
ard Belling,*  and  followed  by  a dense  multitude  of  people  from 
the  adjacent  counties,  who  had  joined  the  cortege  as  it  passed 
along,  came  a noble-looking  man  of  middle  age,  and  of  foreign 
aspect,  robed  as  a high  dignitary  of  the  Church,  and  mounted 
on  a horse  richly  caparisoned.  This  horse  had  been  led  out 
from  the  city  to  meet  the  exalted  personage,  who  had  jour- 
neyed till  then  in  “ a rude  litter.”  The  rain  poured  down  fast  and 
faster,  but  it  could  not  damp  the  ardor  of  the  citizens  at  that 
moment,  nor  dull  the  sound  of  the  merry  peal  chiming  out  from 
every  belfry  of  the  town.  The  deep-mouthed  cannon  on  the 
walls  lent  their  thundering  voice  to  swell  the  chorus  of  welcome ; 
and  so  it  was  amid  the  joyous  shouts  of  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands,  the  pealing  of  bells  and  the  booming  of  cannon  that 
the  stately  priest  entered  the  city  of  the  Confederation.  A 
costly  canopy  was  held  over  him  by  four  of  the  principal 
townsmen,  their  heads  uncovered,  regardless  of  the  pelting  rain, 
and  no  sooner  had  he  emerged  from  beneath  the  arch  than  he 
was  met  by  the  Vicar-General  of  the  diocese  of  Ossory,  the 
mayor  and  aldermen  of  the  city,  and  the  chief  magistrates  of 
the  county.  Having  welcomed  the  illustrious  stranger  to  the 
ancient  city  of  St.  Canice,  these  dignitaries  took  their  place  in 
the  procession  amid  the  loud  plaudits  of  the  people. 

On  then  moved  the  brilliant  cortege  and  the  mighty  multi- 
tude, faster  and  louder  pealed  the  bells,  and  heavier  boomed 
the  cannon ; on  and  on,  following  the  line  of  Patrick  street,  till 
the  old  market  cross  stood  in  its  antique  beauty  before  the  ad- 
miring eyes  of  the  stranger,  and  he  paused  a moment  to  look 
more  closely  at  that  interesting  monument  of  medieval  taste 
and  piety.  Just  then  issued  from  the  bishop’s  house  nearly 
opposite,  a company  of  fifty  students  clad  in  their  collegiate 
costume.  At  their  head  was  one  whose  noble  proportions  well 
became  the  Roman  toga  which  fell  in  ample  folds  around  him 

* The  Secretary  Belling  had  accompanied  the  Nuncio  from  Rome. 
Butler,  Netterville,  and  some  other  gentleman  of  rank  had  been  sent 
by  the  Supreme  Council  to  meet  him  as  soon  as  they  heard  of  his 
landing  on  the  southern  coast. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


357 


and  the  laurel  wreath  which  encircled  his  brows.  No  sooner 
had  the  foreign  prelate  paused  before  the  ancient  cross  than 
this  young  man  stepped  forward,  and  with  lowly  reverence  re- 
cited a Latin  oration  which  appeared  to  give  the  stranger  no 
ordinary  pleasure  for  he  turned  to  Lord  Netterville  at  his  side 
and  smiled  his  approbation.  When  he  had  responded  by  a few 
graceful  words  in  the  same  language,  thanking  the  young  gen- 
tlemen for  their  courtesy  and  delicately  alluding  to  their  class- 
ical attainments,  they,  in  their  turn,  joined  the  procession,  and 
the  canopy  was  again  in  motion,  nor  stopped  till  it  reached  St. 
Canice’s  holy  hill.  The  crowd  immediately  fell  back  on  either 
side,  and  the  procession  moved  slowly  up  the  hill  amid  the 
deafening  cheers  of  the  multitude. 

Under  the  deep  arch  of  the  grand  portal  of  St.  Canice’s  stood 
the  venerable  figure  of  Bishop  Rothe,  bowed  down  with  age  as 
we  have  elsewhere  described  him,  yet  noble  and  commanding 
even  in  decay.  His  numerous  infirmities  had  prevented  him 
from  joining  the  procession,  so  he  stood  at  the  door  of  his  Ca- 
thedral awaiting  its  approach  with  a cheerful,  benignant  smile 
lighting  up  his  shrunken  features,  while  ever  and  anon  he 
turned  to  express  his  satisfaction  to  the  few  priests  whom  he 
had  kept  with  him,  amongst  whom  was  conspicuous  the  lank 
figure  and  pale  face  of  the  Italian  Scarampi ! 

At  length  the  canopy  was  set  down  in  front  of  the  Church, 
and  the  stately  stranger  alighting  from  his  horse  advanced 
towards  the  bishop.  Surely  it  was  the  proudest  moment  in 
David  Rothe’s  life*  when  he  welcomed  to  the  city  of  Kilkenny 
and  the  old  Church  of  St.  Canice  the  Archbishop  of  Fermo, 
Nuncio  of  his  Holiness  Innocent  X.,  sent  by  that  good  Pontiff 
to  promote  the  cause  of  religious  freedom  in  Ireland,  and  to 
0 

* Three  years  before  the  occurrences  here  narrated,  David,  Bishop 
of  Ossory,  had  erected  a monument  to  commemorate  the  restoration 
of  St.  Canice’s  Cathedral  to  the  ancient  worship,  and  it  needs  no 
flight  of  fancy  to  suppose  that  on  this  ifbmerable  occasion  he  may 
have  echoed  the  words  of  the  Canticle : “ Now  dismiss  thy  servant, 
because  my  eyes  have  seen  salvation,  and  the  glory  of  thy  people, 
Israel  ” — Confederation , chap.  V.,  p.  109. 


358  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 

second  by  every  means  in  bis  power  the  efforts  of  the  Confede- 
rate Catholics  ! Such  was  the  style  and  digDity  of  the  stranger, 
John  Baptist  Rinuccini,  name  dear  to  every  Irish  heart. 

Old  and  infirm  as  he  was,  Bishop  Rothe  wTould  have  knelt 
before  the  representative  of  the  Holy  Father,  but  that  the 
Nuncio  would  not  permit.  Raising  the  old  man  with  an  air  of 
filial  reverence  he  tenderly  embraced  him,  and  then  both 
together  entered  the  Cathedral,  followed  by  bishops  and  priests, 
lords  and  gentlemen,  and  as  much  of  the  dense  multitude  as 
could  possibly  obtain  admission. 

Oh  ! it  was  a grand,  a glorious  scene,  the  interior  of  St.  Canice’s 
at  that  moment,  when  the  Nuncio  ascending  the  steps  of  the  high 
altar  intoned  the  Te  Deum , the  vast  multitude  catching  up  the 
sacred  strain  till  the  vaulted  roof  echoed  with  the  exulting 
sounds.  Never  was  that  noblest  of  psalms  sung  on  a loftier 
inspiration,  never  with  more  thrilling  enthusiarm,  as  the  voice  of 
priest  and  prelate,  knight  and  noble,  blended  in  one  harmonious 
volume  of  sound. 

Truly  it  was  a grand  occasion.  Will  Ireland  ever  see  such 
another  sight  7 Why  was  not  Owen  Roe  there  to  witness  it,  or 
Rory  O’More  ! Alas!  poor  0 More  ! how  his  heart  would  have 
thrilled  to  those  glorious  sounds,  how  that  vision  of  light  and 
splendor  would  have  charmed  his  poetic  mind  ! But  it  might 
not  be — it  might  not  be — far  in  his  Flemish  exile  he  heard  but 
the  echo  of  his  country’s  voices,  and  saw  its  joys  or  sorrows  but 
in  dreams. 

“ Oh  ! joyously,  triumphantly,  sweet  sounds  ye  swell  and  float  !”t 

Even  now  alter  the  lapse  of  over  two  hundred  years  we  can 
fee)  the  gushing  joy  that  was  “ borne  on  every  note,”  but  to 
those  who  sang  there  was  an  under-tone  of  sorrow  running 
throughout  the  gladsome  strain ; even  tiiat  stately  Italian  pre- 
late thought  of  the  martyred  dead — how  was  it  then  with  the 
kinsmen  of  Maguire  and  McMahon,  and  the  episcopal  brethren 
of  O’ Kelly  I ^ 

As  if  reading  the  thoughts  of  many  there,  the  Nuncio,  after 
giving  his  blessing  to  the  multitude  from  the  steps  of  the  altar, 


t Mrs,  Hemans. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


359 


demanded  of  Bishop  Rothe  whether  the  Archbishop’s  obsequies 
had  yet  been  celebrated.  Being  answered  in  the  affirmative  he 
expressed  his  satisfaction. 

“ For  my  own  part,”  said  he  in  Latin,  “ I celebrated  them  in 
Limerick  on  my  way  hither.  Oh  ! may  Heaven  receive  thy  soul 
in  glory  !”  he  added,  looking  upwards  with  characteristic  fervor, 
“ faithful  guide  of  these  faithful  people, — pastor  who  gave  thy" 
life  for  thy  sheep,  a high  place  in  heaven,  sure,  is  thine ! Pray 
thou  for  us  as  we  for  thee — pray  for  us  that  it  be  given  us  to 
accomplish  the  deliverance  of  thy  people !” 

After  an  hour  or  two  given  to  rest  and  refreshment  in  the 
house  prepared  for  the  Nuncio’s  reception,  during  which  interval 
Lord  Muskerry,  General  Preston  and  others  of  the  Confederate 
Chiefs  paid  their  respects  to  him, — he  set  out  on  foot  accom- 
panied by  his  Italian  retinue,  Bishop  McMahon,  BelliDg,  Netter- 
ville,  Butler  and  many  others  to  visit  the  aged  President  of  the 
Council — who  had  not  as  yet  made  his  appearance. 

Strangely  enough,  as  it  appears  to  us,  it  was  in  the  Castle  of 
Kilkenny  that  Lord  Mountgarret  received  the  Pope’s  Ambassa- 
dor, and  we  may  hope  that  Richard  Butler’s  heart  swelled  with 
joy  and  pride  as  he  welcomed  the  Nuncio  to  the  lordly  dwelling 
of  his  fathers.  Bitter,  however,  must  have  been  the  thought 
that  the  present  head  of  his  house  was  a renegade  from  the 
faith  of  the  stern  old  Catholic  Butlers. 

Those  who  have  seen  the  Castle  of  Kilkenny  need  no  descrip- 
tion of  that  stately  pile,  yet  even  they  can  hardly  realize  what 
it  was  when  the  Nuncio  Rinuccini  honored  it  with  a visit  on  that 
memorable  occasion.  The  many  additions  made  to  the  original 
edifice  by  the  dukes  and  marquises  of  Ormond  have  added 
little  to  its  beauty,  how  much  soever  they  may  have  increased 
its  splendor.  The  baronial  grandeur  is  still  there,  more  strik- 
ing, perhaps,  than  ever,  but  the  architectural  harmony  and 
completeness  is  gone.  Nevertheless,  it  was  then,  as  it  is  now, 
a dwelling  not  unworthy  the  Butlers  of  Ormond,  towering  in  its 
pride  over  the  rapid  waters  of  the  Nore  and  looking  down  with 
an  air  of  protection  on  the  fair  city  resting  at  its  feet. 

When  the  Nuncio  reached  the  Castle  hall  with  his  retinue,  he 
was  received  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase  by  the  Arch- 


360 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


bishops  of  Dublin  and  Cashel,  by  whom  he  was  conducted  to 
the  great  gallery,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  Lord  Mountgarret 
awaited  his  arrival.  The  stately  old  nobleman  was  seated  on 
a chair  richly  adorned,  whilst  near  him  was  the  seat  intended 
for  the  Nuncio  covered  with  damask  and  gold,  with  the  ponti- 
fical arras  magnificently  emblazoned  on  the  back. 

Mountgarret  arose  as  the  Nuncio  approached,  but  instead  of 
going  forward  to  meet  him,  as  etiquette  would  have  required, 
be  stood  awaiting  his  approach.  Without  appearing  to  notice 
this  want  of  courtesy  (to  say  the  least  of  it)  Rinuccini  at  once 
addressed  the  President  in  the  Latin  language  : 

“ My  Lord  President,”  said  he  with  that  lofty  air  of  command 
which  was  natural  to  him,  “ my  Lord  President,  it  is  hardly  ne- 
cessary to  inform  you  that  his  Holiness  Pope  Innocent  X.  (suc- 
cessor to  Urban  VIII.  of  happy  memory)  hath  deputed  me 
with  the  fullest  authority  to  take  part  in  the  struggle  so  nobly 
maintained  by  the  pious  Confederate  Catholics  of  Ireland.  Your 
cause  he  esteems  as  the  cause  of  Catholicity,  and  he  well  com- 
mendeth  the  patience  and  constancy  shown  by  you  in  carrying 
on  this  thrice-bles  ed  war.” 

Here  the  President’s  countenance  fell,  and  he  seemed  for  a mo- 
ment as  though  about  to  interrupt  the  speaker,  but  he  pro- 
bably thought,  better  of  it  and  kept  silent. 

“ His  Holiness,”  went  on  the  Nuncio,  “ hath  it  also  much  at 
heart  that  the  king  of  England’s  cause  should  prosper  to  the 
confusion  of  the  evil-minded  men  who  have  manifested  their  dis- 
loyal sentiments  towards  him.  It  would  give  our  common  Fa- 
ther much  contentment  were  his  faithful  children  of  Ireland  in 
a position  to  aid  their  king  in  his  struggle  with  his  rebellious 
Parliament.”  Mountgarret’s  face  brightened  up  again,  whilst  he 
and  the  other  leading  Ormondists  exchanged  significant  glances. 

“ Our  desire  is  to  support  the  king,”  repeated  Rinuccini,  whose 
keen  eye  had  not  failed  to  detect  the  meaning  looks  of  those 
around  him,  although  their  full  signification  was  not  as  yet 
known  to  him.  “ Truly  that  is  one  great  object  to  be  kept  in 
view,  but  the  first  and  greatest  duty  of  you  and  me  and  of 
every  Catholic,  is  to  battle  for  the  right— for  the  free  untram- 
meled exercise  of  our  holy  religion,  aye  ! to  the  shedding  of  all 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


361 


our  blood.  No  compromise,  no  treaty,  no  tampering  with  the 
enemy  until  the  Catholic  faith  be  re-established  in  this  realm  as 
it  was  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  or  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  That,  gentlemen  Confederates,  is  the 
main  and  primary  object  of  our  endeavors,  and  with  less  than 
that  I,  John  Baptist  Rinuccini,  will  never  rest  contented,  nor  yet 
will  his  Holiness  Innocent  X.,  who  is  fully  resolved  to  uphold 
you  in  your  struggle  to  the  utmost  extent  of  his  resources. 
Oh ! soldiers  of  the  Cross !”  he  added,  turning  with  enthusiastic 
fervor  to  the  crowd  of  lords  and  gentlemen  by  that  time  as- 
sembled in  the  gallery,  “ dauntless  sons  of  Catholic  Ireland, 
be  not  deceived  in  this  matter.  Hearken  not  to  those  who 
would  cool  your  zeal  or  incite  you  to  give  up  mid-way  in  your 
path — treachery  is  abroad — the  enemy  is  gnawing  at  the  roots 
of  the  stately  tree  whose  branches  now  cover  the  land — as  ye 
love  your  own  souls — as  ye  love  that  faith  for  which  your  fathers 
lost  lands,  and  livings,  and  life  itself,  go  on  with  the  good  work 
now  so  far  advanced — an’  the  tempter  lure  ye  from  the  path; 
our  cause  is  lost,  Catholic  Europe  will  blush  for  shame,  and  the 
paternal  heart  of  Innocent  will  bleed  for  your  infatuation.  But 
no  ! you  will  not  thus  tamely  yield  what  your  valor  hath  won  ! 
By  the  bones  of  your  slaughtered  kin,  by  the  bitter  pains  of  per- 
secution, by  all  the  memories  of  your  wrongs,  it  shall  not  be  ! 
you ' will  follow  up  your  advantage,  and  grasp  that  glorious 
victory  which  is  even  now  within  your  reach.” 

“ Most  reverend  lord,”  put  in  Mountgarret,  “ you  seem  in 
ignorance  of  the  peace  which  for  wise  and  lawful  ends  we  are 
negotiating,” 

“ The  which  is  much  needed  in  this  distracted  country,”  echoed 
Muskerry. 

“ Peace ! peace ! who  talks  of  peace  1”  said  the  Nuncio 
sharply ; “ what  manner  of  peace  would  you  gain  now  with 
the  enemy  still  in  full  strength  1 I have  brought  you,  my  lords 
and  gentlemen,  from  our  Most  Holy  Father,  and  other  friends 
of  the  cause,  that  which  will  help  you  to  win  real  peace,  lasting 
peace — I have  brought  you  such  supplies  of  arms  and  am- 
munition as  never  crossed  the  seas  to  you  before ; money,  too, 
hath  his  Holiness  sent  you  from  his  own  treasury,  and  my 
16 


362 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


valued  friend,  Father  Luke  Wadding,  hath  also  forwarded  by 
me  some  86,000  crowns,  all  which  I have  and  do  hold  for  your 
use  in  red  Spanish  gold.  By  using  these  to  advantage  you  can 
make  peace,  on  your  own  terms,  such  peace  as  alone  is  worth 
having,  that  is  to  say,  peace  based  on  full  and  entire  freedom.” 

“ To  what  extent  would  your  grace  have  us  demand  freedom  V* 
said  Mountgarret  coldly. 

“ To  the  extent,  my  Lord  President,  of  placing  the  Catholic 
religion  on  an  equality  with  all  others — freedom  for  your  homes, 
freedom  for  your  altars,  freedom  for  your  clergy;  also  that  res *■ 
titution  be  made  the  church  for  the  robberies  of  these  latter  ages, 
which  is  to  say  that  her  property  be  restored  to  her  intact. 
This  is  the  freedom  which  will  secure  peace,  this  is  the  free- 
dom which  the  Father  of  the  faithful  desires  to  see  established 
amongst  you,  and  for  which  end  he  hath  sent  me  hither,  not  to 
make  treaties  for  the  convenience  and  contentment  of  a Protest- 
ant viceroy.” 

“ My  Lord  Nuncio,”  said  a smooth  oily  voice  from  behind  the 
President’s  chair,  “ I pray  you  suspend  your  opinion  of  this 
matter  till  such  time ” 

“ And  who  are  you  V ’ demanded  the  Nuncio,  breaking  in 
abruptly. 

“An  humble  son  of  St.  Francis,”  said  the  smooth  voice 
again. 

“And  a devoted  servant  of  Ormond,”  whispered  Bishop 
French,  at  the  Nuncio’s  side. 

“ Advance  and  show  yourself,”  said  Rinucciniwith  some  stern- 
ness, and  forthwith  Father  Peter  Walsh  made  himself  visible  in 
the  brown  habit  of  his  order.  The  Nuncio  returned  his  lowly 
reverence  with  a slight  bend  of  his  stately  head,  and  then  eyed 
him  for  a moment  with  that  keen  scrutiny  which  reads  men’s 
hearts,  then  waved  him  back  with  a motion  of  his  hand,  as 
though  desiring  no  further  acquaintance.  A crest-fallen  man  was 
Father  Peter,  but  his  troubles  were  not  yet  over. 

“ There  now,”  said  another  voice  from  the  depth  of  an  ad- 
joining doorway;  “there  now,  Father  Peter  Walsh!  take  that 
fur  your  pains,  and  it’s  you  that  well  deserves  it.  It  isn’t  the 
poor  simple  Bishop  of  Clogher  you  have  now  f” 


THE*  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  363 

Not  even  the  presence  of  the  Nuncio  could  repress  the  hurst 
of  laughter  that  ran  around  the  room,  whilst  the  grave  Italians 
wondered  what  it  all  meant,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
in  blank  amazement.  The  Nuncio  himself,  however,  could  not 
repress  a smile  when  the  matter  was  explained  to  him.  But 
no  one  enjoyed  the  joke  more  than  Bishop  McMahon,  albeit 
that  it  touched  him  on  a sore  spot  which  he  would  now  fain 
conceal. 

“ Malachy,  my  dear  man,”  said  he  with  a good-humored 
smile,  “ this  is  not  the  place  for  you,  sog garth  and  all  as  you 
are.” 

“I  know  that,  my  lord,”  said  the  quaint  appendage  to  the 
see  of  Clogher,  “ and  it  isn’t  the  place  I’d  be  in  either  only  for  a 
letter  that  came  for  you  there  a while  ago  from  a place  called 
Flanders,  wherever  that  may  be,  dear  knows ! It’s  a priest  that 
came  with  it,  and  he  says  it’s  from  Master  Rory  O’More,  and 
that  there’s  a power  of  money  in  it  for  paying  the  men,  and 
everything  that  way.” 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure  escaped  many  even 
of  the  Ormond  • faction  on  hearing  this  announcement,  and  all 
forgot  that  there  was  anything  ludicrous  in  the  medium  through, 
which  it  was  conveyed.  The  name  of  Roger  O’More  was  still 
dear  to  all  the  Confederates,  and  they  rejoiced  to  hear  that 
he  yet  took  an  interest  in  their  affairs,  and  was  working  for 
them  beyond  the  sea. 

“ When  it  rains  it  pours,”  muttered  the  old  President  to 
himself  in  a querulous  tone ; “an’  we  wanted  their  supplies  we 
might  not  have  them  in  such  plenty.” 

“ They  will  stand  u s in  good  stead  for  the  king’s  service,” 
suggested  Nicholas  Plunket  in  a low  voice  at  his  elbow  as 
if  reading  his  thoughts. 

Bishop  McMahon,  having  dismissed  Malachy  to  see  after  the 
entertainment  of  O’More’s  reverend  messenger,  addressed  the 
President -and  the  assembled  Confederates  with  that  overpower- 
ing' energy  which  distinguished  him  from  most  others.  He 
declared  himself  entirely  opposed  to  any  further  negotiations 
with  the  enemy  until  such  time  as  they  could  command  their 
own  terms. 


364 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ War ! war  ! war !”  said  he,  “ war  unceasing  ! — no  more 
truce-making,  no  more  parleying — Rome  hath  spoken,  we  have 
hut  to  obey.'  My  lords  and  gentlemen  and  brother  Confede- 
rates, there  is  but  one  way  for  us,  and  that  is  the  way  that 
leads  to  victory.  How  can  we  fail  to  look  forward  with  hope 
when  the  Head  of  the  Church  has  sent  his  representative  to 
aid  us  in  the  contest  1 when  money,  and  arms,  and  all  things 
needful  are  showering  on  us  like  dew  from  heaven  1 God  is 
with  us,  brethren ! that  is  plain — wherefore,  then,  lay  down 
the  sword  that  hath  gained  so  much  until  all  is  gained  1 Let  it 
not  be  said  of  us  that  we  lacked  the  courage  or  the  perseverance 
to  finish  the  work  so  well  begun ! Freedom  is  more  than 
half  w'on,  shall  we  not  win  it  1 Ay,  truly,  .though  we  die  for 
it — what  is  death  in  such  a cause  ?” 

Bishop  McMahon’s  address  was  heard  with  alarm  by  the 
Ormondists  present  who  had  of  late  been  reckoning  . on  that  en- 
terprising prelate  as  a friend  to  the  peace.  They  were  fain,  how- 
ever, to  conceal  their  chagrin,  but  it  did  not  escape  the  piercing 
eyes  of  the  Nuncio,  who  took  leave  of  Mountgarret  that  day 
with  a feeling  of  contempt  for  the  pitiful  weakness  that  made 
so  many  of  the  Confederate  chiefs  actually  subservient  to  Lord 
Ormond,  in  whom  the  astute  prelate  already  saw  the  arch  enemy 
of  the  Catholic  cause. 

He  was  accompanied  on  his  return  by  Lords  Muskerry  and 
Netterville,  and  -on  leaving  the  Castle  he  found  General  Preston 
waiting  with  his  troops  under  arms  to  conduct  him  to  his  do- 
micile. The  Nuncio  seemed  pleased  with  this  attention,  although 
it  was  no  more  than  he  had  a right  to  expect. 

Returning  to  his  home  he  found  the  Earl  of  Glamorgan  in 
anxious  expectation  of  his  coming.  Being  introduced  by  Lord 
Muskerry,  Glamorgan  proceeded  at  once  to  business,  and  informed 
the  Nuncio  of  his  royal  master’s  willingness  to  do  all  that  lay 
in  his  power  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  his  Catholic  subjects 
in  Ireland.  But,  in  order  to  enable  him  to  carry  out  his  benefi- 
cent designs,  the  Earl  said,  he  must  have  good  help  from  them 
without  any  delay  for  the  prosecution  of  the  war  in  England, 
where  the  rebels  were  fast  gaining  ground. 

“ Thus  your  grace  cannot  but  see,”  added  Glamorgan,  “ that 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


305 


the  king’s  cause  and  that  of  the  Confederate  Catholics  are  at 
this  moment  identically  the  same.  To  sustain  his  highness 
against  the  rebellious  Puritans  is  in  reality  to  sustain  yourselves 
— ourselves,  I would  say  !” 

The  Nuncio  smiled  at  some  passing  thought,  but  he  said 
gravely  : “ What  security  have  we,  my  Lord  Earl,  that  such  be 
his  Majesty  of  England’s  gracious  intentions  in  our  regard”? 
Here  we  have  his  trusted  friend  Ormond,  standing  out  against  our 
just  demands  in  regard  to  religion,  and  protesting  that  he  will 
never  consent  to  the  public  re-establishment  of  the  ancient  faith, 
no,  not  even  to  secure  the  peace  so  necessary  to  his  master’s  in- 
terest. ' How  is  it,  my  Lord  Glamorgan  V* 

“An’  your  grace  will  condescend  to  read  these  documents,” 
said  the  Earl,  “ one  of  them  a-  letter  to  yourself  under  his 
highness’  own  hand,  you  will  see  that  my  powers  in  this  matter 
are  no  less  ample  than  those  of  my  Lord  Ormond.” 

As  the  Nuncio  read  his  dark  face  gradually  brightened,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  end  of  the  last  epistle  his  doubts 
seemed  almost  to  have  vanished. 

“I  am  much  beholden  to  your  royal  master,”  said  he,  “in 
that  he  hath  been- pleased  to  write  me  what  I take  to  be  a solemn 
promise  to  do  justice  to  the  Catholics  of  this  realm  as  soon  as 
his  present  difficulties  will  permit.  He  commends  you  to  me  in 
the  highest  terms  of  praise,  and  assures  me  on  the  word  of  a 
prince  that  whatsoever  engagements  you  contract  in  his  name 
he  will  see  duly  ratified — on  condition  that  we  will  afford  him 
and  I esteem  it  a favorable  augury  as  regards  the  success  of  my 
mission.  For  the  rest,  your  lordship’s  instructions  are  of  the 
mission.  For  the  rest,  your  lordship’s  instructions  are  of  the 
most  satisfactory  nature.  Were  the  Marquis  of  Ormond  less  pre- 
judiced against  our  cause  all  would  go  well.” 

Glamorgan  made  an  attempt  to  defend  the  marquis  on  the 
score  of  “ expediency,”  but  the  Nuncio  shook  his  head  and  looked 
incredulous.  Preston  just  then  made  his  appearance  and  Rinuc- 

* This  letter  of  Charles  the  First  to  the  Nuncio  Riouccini  is  beyond 
all  doubt  authentic.  Its  authenticity  indeed  is  hardly  ever  called  in 
question. 


366 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


ciui  abruptly  asked  for  General  O’Neill,  “ whose  bravery  and 
prudence,”  said  he,  “ I have  heard  much  extolled  in  Rome.” 

“ Humph !”  said  the  Leinster  general  with  a supercilious 
smile,  “ he  keeps,  for  the  most  part,  with  his  half-naked  kern  in 
his  own  province; — mayhap  fame  bath  blown  his  trumpet  over 
loudly.  But  late  he  hath  had  to  get  help  here  against  the  Scots, 
and  the  Council  being  of  no  such  opinion  as  your  grace,  with 
regard  to  his  bravery  or  prudence,  gave  the  command  to  my 
Lord  Castlehaven,  who  is,  indeed,  far  beyond  O’Neill  in  military 
skill.” 

Rinuccini  listened  with  a sad  misgiving,  too  surely  justified 
by  succeeding  events. 


» 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


367 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

“ Nay,  Father,  tell  us  not  of  help  from  Leinster’s  Norman  Peers, 

If  we  shall  shape  our  holy  cause  to  match  their  selfish  fears — 
Helpless  and  hopeless  be  their  cause,  who  brook  a vain  delay, 

Our  ship  is  launched,  our  flag’s  afloat,  whether  they  come  or  stay. 

“ Let  silken  Howth  and  savage  Slane  still  kiss  their  tyrant’s  rod, 

And  pale  Dunsany  still  prefer  his  monarch  to  his  God,  . 

Little  we  lack  their  fathers’  sons,  the  marchmeu  of  the  Pale, 

While  Irish  hearts  and  Irish  hands  have  Spanish  blades  and  mail. 

“ Then  let  them  stay  to  bow  and  fawn,  or  fight  with  cunning  words  ; 
I fear  me  more  their  courtly  arts  than  England’s  hireling  swords  ; 
Natheless  their  creed  they  hate  us  -still,  as  the  Despoiler  hates, 

Would  God  they  loved  their  prey  no  more,  our  kinsmen’s  lost  estates !” 

C.  G.  Duffy. 

A few  weeks  after  the  Nuncio’s  arrival  in  Kilkenny,  a meet- 
ing of  the  General  Assembly  took  place  at  his  request.  He  was 
naturally  anxious  to  see  what  materials  he  had  to  work  upon, 
and  the  various  leaders  brought  face  to  face  so  that  he  might 
judge  for  himself  how  they  stood  affected  towards  each  other. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  the  two  races  brought  into  im- 
mediate contact,  and  he  looked  anxiously  for  the  result.  The 
meeting  was  a full  one  as  might  be  supposed.  Castlehaven  was 
there  full  of  the  idea  that  he  had  been  the  salvation  of  the  Con- 
federate forces  in  Ulster,  endangered,  as  he  basely  insinuated, 
by  supineness,  “ or  something  worse,”*  on  the  part  of  Owen  Roe. 
Preston  was  there,  too,  looking  fierce  and  warlike  as  ever,  and 
Owen  Roe  was  there  with  his  cold,  calm  smile  and  collected  mien, 
and  his  keen  observing  glance.  There,  too,  was  Sir  Phelim,  de- 
termined to  put  in  his  claim  for  a share  in  the  command  of  the 
northern  army.  Most  of  the  Ulster  chiefs  were,  indeed,  present, 
as  were  also  the  great  Irish  toparchs  of  the  south  and  west, 


* See  his  Memoirs. 


368 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


whilst  the  Palesmen  were  there  in  full  muster  anxious  to  con- 
clude the  peace  with  Ormond  and  fearing  the  opposition'  of  the 
Chieftains,  now  more  formidable  than  over  from  the  presence 
and  declared  sentiments  of  the  Nuncio. 

The  question  of  the  peace  was,  of  course,  the  first  that  came 
up  for  discussion,  and  Rinuccini  had  soon  the  desired  opportu- 
nity of  fathoming. the  hearts  of  the  Confederate  Chiefs. 

Mountgarret  and  Muskerry,  Netterville  and  .Gormanstown, 
Fingal  and  Howth,  and  many  another  name  in  high  esteem 
amongst  the  Confederates,  were  all  urgent  for  peace — peace  on 
any  terms,  so  as  to  leave  the  king  at  liberty  to  oppose  the  Eng- 
lish rebels. 

“Truly,  yes,”  said  Castlehaven,  “it  devolves  on  us  as  loyal 
gentlemen  to  waive  all  other  matters  for  the  present — our  treaty 
with  my  lord  of  Ormond  doth  secure  us  against  religious 
persecution ” 

“ Until  sUch  time,”  said  Owen  Roe,  “ as  the  enemy  recovers  his 
strength — no  longer.  See  you  not,  my  lords  and  gentlemen, 
that  we  gain  nothing  by  this  treaty  but  bare  toleration  for  our 
religion — scarcely  even  that — whereas  we  bind  ourselves  to  aid 
the  king  with  men,  money,  arms,  and  even  provisions ; his 
majesty,  after  all,  reserving  to  himself  the  consideration  of  our 
claims  1 What  manner  of  bargain  is  that,  lords  and  gentlemen  1 
They  have  the  substance,  we  the  shadow.” 

The  Nuncio  looked  at  Owen  Roe  with  a smile  of  approbation, 
which  did  not  escape  the  Norman  lords. 

“ Such  language  well  becomes  you,  General  O’Neill,”  Castle- 
haven replied  quickly ; “ an’  his  highness  had  no  more  loyal 
subjects  here  in  Ireland  than  they  of  the  old  blood,  small  aid 
might  he  hope  for  in  his  sore  need.  Shame  on  the  Catholic 
who  at  such  a moment  presses  him  for  concessions  beyond  his 
power  to  grant !” 

“ Your  pardon,  my  lord  !”  said  Bishop  French,  “ he  did  not 
grant  them  when  he  had  the  power.  Far  be  it  from  me,  how- 
ever, to  make  light  of  his  majesty’s  distresses — may  Heaven 
confound  his  enemies — but  I am  entirely  of  General  O’Neill’s 
opinion — the  king  and  his  deceitful  lieutenant,  Ormond,  are 
driven  by  hard  necessity  to  seek  our  aid — what  are  they  giving 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


369 


us  in  exchange  1 Nothing,  that  I can  see,  only  empty  promises, 
and  even  they  far  from  meeting  our  just  expectations.” 

“ You  do  his  majesty  much  injustice,  my  reverend  lord,”  said 
Glamorgan,  who  occupied  a seat  near  the  Nuncio  ; “ what  more 
can  you  desire,  or  in  reason  demand,  than  he  hath  empowered 
me  to  promise 'you  in  his  name  V* 

“ I deny  it  not,”  said  the  prelate  curtly,  “ but  I much  fear  for 
the  performance  thereof.  An’  your  articles,  my  Lord  Glamor- 
gan, were  likely  to  be  carried  out,  I would  be  the  first  to  urge 
a peace,  but  to  my  thinking,  as  matters  stand,  it  were  best  not 
to  lay  down  the  arms  which  have  brought  the  proud  Ormond  to 
treat  us  with  some  show  of  respect.” 

“ An’  my  advice  be  taken,”  said  Owen  Roe,  “ there  would 
be  no  peace  made  with  any  king  or  any  party  that  could  not 
or  would  not  guarantee  the  free  exercise  of  our  religion,  the 
restoration  of  Church  property,  and  for  our  bishops  the  right  of 
sitting;  as  spiritual  peers — in  short,  that  all  penal  restrictions 
be  removed — we  have  the  power,  lords  and  gentlemen,  to  bring 
this  about,  wherefore  stop  short  'l — wherefore  throw  away  the 
golden  fruit  within  our  reach — the  fruit  of  our  four  years’  heavy 
toil — the  fruit  of  our  martyrs’  blood  1 King  Charles’ cause  is 
not  without  our  sympathy,  but  the  ancient  faith  of  our  fathers — 
the  sufferings  of  our  own  kith  and  kin  on  account  of  their  fidel- 
ity have  the  first  claim  on  our  attention.  My  lords  and  gentle- 
men, I will  never  consent  to  any  such  peace  as  this  of  Or- 
mond’s !” 

“ You  speak  as  though  the  treaty  were  in  your  pocket!”  said 
Castlehaven  in  a tone  of  contempt. 

“ Or  rather  he  thinks  Hugh  O’Neill’s  sword  sharp  enough  to 
cut  it !”  said  Preston  wfith  bitter  irony.  “Not  that  I am  much 

in  favor  of  the  treaty  myself,  but ” 

“ General  Preston,”  exclaimed  Sir  Phelim  with  his  usual  im- 
petuosity, “Owen  and  myself  are  not  often  of  the  same  mind, 
but  by  the  Red  Hand  of  Tyr-Owen  we  are  this  time.  One 
battle  gained  is  worth  all  the  treaties  you  could  make  in  a year. 
The  sword  and  not  the  pen  must  secure  our  rights.” 

“With  all  respect,”  said  Philip  O’Reilly,  “ I humbly  submit 
that  his  Majesty  of  England  hath  no  such  claim  to  our  grati- 


370 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tude  as  that  we  serve  him  rather  than  onr  Holy  Mother  the 
Church,  for  whose  honor  and  well-being  we  first  commenced 
this  war.” 

In  an  instant  Mountgarret,  Muskerry,  and  Castlehaven  were 
on  their  feet,  all  eager  to  protest  against  what  they  were 
pleased  to  call  this  “ seditious  language.”  Sir  Lucas  Diilon,  too, 
smoothly  expressed  his  horror,  and  Nicholas  Plunket  declared 
himself  much  amazed. 

“ Most  reverend  lord,”  said  Owen  Roe,  addressing  the  Nuncio 
in  the  Spanish  language,  “ I humbly  pray  that  you  be  not  scan- 
dalized at  our  warmth  of  speech.  We  of  the  old  blood  are  apt 
to  speak  our  thoughts  over  freely,  but  as  for  1 sedition*  we  hold 
ourselves  as  loyal  men  as  those  who  stood  hat  in  hand  but  late 
in  front  of  Ormond’s  tent  bowing  before  him  like 

“ Like  hungry  dogs  begging  for  bones!”  suggested  Sir  Phe- 
lim,  whereupon  the  Irish  chieftains  laughed  and  the  Normans 
waxed  wroth. 

“ We  appeal  to  the  Nuncio,”  said  Muskerry  pale  with  anger. 

“ So  do  we,”  said  Owen  Roe,  “ let  his  grace  decide  between 
us — you  for  peace  and  toleration , we  for  war  and  independence , 
as  regards  religion !” 

The  Nuncio  rose  and  all  were  silent,  while  every  eye  was 
turned  upon  him.  For  a moment  his  eagle  glance  scanned  the 
assembly  as  though  taking  in  its  numbers  and  general  charac- 
ter, then,  gradually  narrowing  its  range,  it  rested  on  the  faces 
of  those  who  had  taken  the  lead  in  the  discussion.  The  sternly 
knitted  brow  and  the  keen  searching  eye  that  gleamed  from 
beneath  it  gave  no  indication  as  to  which  party  had  his  sympa- 
thies, but  his  words  speedily  removed  all  doubt. 

“ General  O’Neill,”  said  he,  “ I think  as  you  do.”  He  paused 
and  looked  around  as  though  challenging  opposition.  No  one 
at  first  ventured  to  speak — and  Rinuccini  proceeded. 

“ I say  now  in  public  that  which  I have  said  to  many  of  you 
in  private,  that  I came  hither  on  the  part  of  the  Sovereign  Pon-. 
tiff  to  aid  you  in  your  struggle  for  freedom — whatsoever  diverges 
from  that  object  is  beyond  my  province.  I deeply  feel  for  the 
cruel  position  wherein  your  monarch  is  placed — so  does  the 
Holy  Father,  as  witness  the  sums  by  him  advanced  for  the  sus- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


371 


tainment  of  the  king  of  England,  but  nearer  and  dearer  to  my 
heart,  yea,  and  to  that  of  the  Holy  Father  Innocent,  is  the  cause  of 
the  long-suffering,  ever  faithful  Catholics  of  Ireland.  My  lords 
and  gentlemen  of  the  Confederation,  your  cause  is  a sacred 
cause — it  is  our  own ” — and  he  pressed  his  bosom  with  both 
hands  with  the  impassioned  energy  of  an  Italian — “ it  is  an  affair 
of  life  or  death,  not  only  to  you  but  to  millions  yet  unborn. 
Either  to  worship  God  as  freemen  in  the  stately  temples  erected 
by  your  pious  fathers,  now  happily  again  in  your  own  posses- 
sion, or  to  run  once  more  into  the  holes  and  caverns  of  the  earth 
with  the  divine  mysteries  which  .are  man’s  proudest  heritage. 
Like  this  noble  chief,  this  worthy  son  of  the  great  O’Neills” — turn- 
ing to  Owen — “I  do  not  choose  to  accept  mere  toleration,  when 
we  can  command  the  fullest  measure  of  freedom.” 

“ Then,”  said  Mountgarret  with  ill-concealed  vexation,  “ we 
are  to  understand  that  your  grace  opposes  the  peace  now  pend- 
ing between  us  and  my  Lord  of  Ormond  1” 

“ Assuredly  I do,”  was  the  prompt  repty,  “unless  that  lord 
will  consent  to  our  just  demands — on  his  terms,  no  peace — no 
peace  for  me — death  a thousand  times  sooner — ay,  even  the 
bloody  grave  of  Malachy  O’Kelly,  whose  soul  may  Christ  crown 
with  glory !” 

“ It  is  well,  my  Lord  Archbishop  !”  said  Mountgarret  haught- 
ily. ; “it  is  well  to  know  this  so  soon.  Permit  me  to  say,  nathe- 
less,  that  the  treaty  hath  already  proceeded  too  far  to  be  lightly 
broken  off— ay  ! even  by  a Nuncio — for  which  good  thing  our 
Lord  be  praised.” 

“ Are  you  a Catholic,  my  Lord  Mountgarret  T’  was  the  Nun- 
cio’s stern  rebuke. 

“ Truly,  yes,  most  reverend  lord ! at  least,  I hope  so.” 

“Nay,  nay — say  not  a Catholic — an  Ormondist  rather — Or- 
mondists  are  ye  all  who  tamper  with  the  freedom  of  the  Church 
to  please  that  man — these  be  the  Catholics ” — and  he  pointed  to 
the  O’Neills  and  the  other  chiefs  who  had  so  warmly  protested 
against  negotiating  with  Ormond.  “ An’  you  would  deserve 
that  proud  title,  do  the  will  of  God  and  His  vicegerent  on  earth, 
even  as  they  do— rather  than  the  will  of  a Protestant  governor, 
yea,  a man  who  hates  your  religion  as  renegades  only  can  !” 


372 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Brows  were  knitted  amongst  the  haughty  Palesmen,  and 
faces  grew  red  and  then  pale  with  anger,  but  it  was  only  Mount- 
garret  that  spoke,  and  his  whole  frame  trembled  ani  his  thin 
lips  were  firmly  compressed. 

“ Truly,  my  lord,”  said  he  in  a voice  that  ho  vainly  strove  to 
keep  steady,  “ truly  it  is  our  misfortune — we  of  the  English  race 
— to  have  fallen  so  soon  under  your  grace’s  displeasure — I say 
it  is  our  misfortune,  but — but” — he  paused  and  looked  around 
as  if  to  gather  the  suffrages  of  his  own  party — “ but  1 see  not 
that  our  mishap  is  like  to  be  soon  remedied.  We  must  live 
without  your  favor — since  we  may  not  have  it  on  other  terms 
than  disloyalty  to  our  lawful  prince — for -those,”  and  he  in  his 
turn  pointed  to  the  chieftains  of  Irish  blood,  “ for  those,  they 
live  and  breathe  in  disaffection — loyalty  they  hardly  know  by 
name — but  for  us,  my  Lord  Nuncio  ! we  are  proud  to  acknow- 
leflge  our  subjection  to  his  gracious  majesty  Charles  the  First — 
we  are  British  subjects — proud  of  the  name — glorying  in  our 
allegiance!” 

“ I tell  you  again,  my  Lord  Mountgarret,”  said  Owen  Roe 
more  sternly  than  was  his  wont,  “ we  fling  the  word  disloyalty 
back  in  your  teeth — loyal  men  are  we,  but  more  loyal  to  God 
•than  to  any  earthly  ruler — an’  your  patron,  Ormond,  will  not  ratify 
my  Lord  Glamorgan’s  treaty,  he  may  make  cartridges  of  his  own 
— we'll  none  of  it,  so  help  us,  Heaven !” 

“ How  can  you  help  it  I”  said  Preston  in  a taunting  tone. 

“ Ways  or  means  are  not  wanting  to  us,  Master  Preston,” 
O’Neill  replied  with  lofty  self-reliance ; “ our  motives  are  known 
to  God — He  will  not  abandon  those  who  fight  for  the  glory  of 
His  name.” 

“ Thank  God  !”  said  Rinuccini,  “ there  is  still  such  faith  to 
be  found  in  Ireland  !” 

The  upshot  of  this  stormy  debate  was  that  the  Nuncio  caused 
all  the  arms  and  ammunition  he  brought  from  Italy  to  be 
conveyed  to  Kilkenny,  and  declared  his  intention  of  giving 
the  whole  to  Owen  O’Neill,  together  with  the  greater  part  of 
the  money  in  his  possession. ' This,  of  course,  raised  another 
’storm  in  the  Council.  The  Norman  lords  and  gentlemen  were 
furious,  and  threatened  to  withdraw  immediately  from  the  Con- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


373 


federation  if  a portion  of  the  supplies  were  not  given  to  Preston. 
After  some  deliberation,  Einuccini  at  length  agreed,  but  the 
share  he  assigned  to  the  Leinster  general  was  so  small  compared 
with  that  given  to  O’Neill  that  the  former  could  hardly  be  per- 
suaded to  accept  it. 

“ He  may  or  may  not,”  said  the  uncompromising  prelate,  “ no 
more  shall  he  have.  Ulster,  I see  plainly,  must  be  the  scene  of  a 
grand  campaign,  so  as  to  clear  it,  if  possibly  we  can,  of  those 
fanatical  Scotsmen.  There  must  our  strength  be  concentrated, 
and,  for  the  present,  General  Preston  must  make  shift  with  what 
he  has.” 

Owen  Roe,  then,  was  at  length  approaching  the  consummation 
of  his  cherished  wish ; he  was  to  have  at  his  command  the  chief 
army  of  the  Confederation,  with  supplies  of  every  kind  neces- 
sary for  carrying  on  a determined  and  energetic  war,  such  as 
might  in  a short  time  clear  his  own  Ulster  of  the  ruthless  Puri- 
tans who  had  so  long  kept  it  in  thrall.  Stout  Phelim,  too,  was 
by  his  side  eager  for  the  coming  opportunity  as  a leashed  hound 
for  the  chase.  Surely,  then,  the  day  so  long  rooked  for  was 
not  far  distant. 

Whilst  the  northern  chieftains,  inspired  with  fresh  enthusiasm, 
hastened  home  to  aid  in  the  preparations  for  the  opening  cam- 
paign, the  Confederates  in  Kilkenny  were  startled  by  the  intel- 
ligence that  Lord  Glamorgan  who  had  set  out  for  Dublin  with 
two  Commissioners  from  the  Council  some  days  before  had  been 
arrested  by  order  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  on  a charge  of  high 
treason. 

“ And  how  was  it  1”  Mountgarret  asked  in  amazement  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  accompanied  the  Commissioners  from  town  ; 
.“  what  was  there,  I pray  you,  to  substantiate  such  a charge 
against  a well-known  favorite  of  the  king,  whose  house  hath  all 
along  been  distinguished  for  devotion  to  the  royal  cause  V’* 

* The  Marquis  of  Worcester,  Glamorgan’s  father,  was  one  of  the 
most  trusted  and  efficient  of  the  royal  Generals  throughout  that  Puri- 
tan rebellion — it  is  said  that  he  and  his  son,  the  Glamorgan  of  our 
story,  between  themadvanced  the  almost  incredible  sum  of  £220,000 
from  their  own  private  resources  for  the  sustainment  of  the  king. 


374 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ It  seems  the  Marquis  thinks  there  is  cause  sufficient,”  re- 
plied Sir  John  Netterville,  for  he  it  was ; “ much  did  I hear  at 
the  Castle  concerning  a certain  secret  treaty  of  that  Earl’s,  a 
copy  of  which  was  found  on  the  body  of  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam 
— know  you,  my  lords,  anything  of  it 

The  malicious  glance  of  Netterville’s  dark  eye  was  not  lost  on 
Owen  Roe  wrho*  could  hardly  believe  his  own  eyes  that  what  he 
saw  was  real.  Turning  to  the  old  Lord  Netterville  who  chanced 
to  he  near  him  at  the  moment,  he  asked  in  utter  amazement  : 

“ Do  mine  eyes  deceive  me,  or  is  yonder  gay  cavalier  your 
lordship’s  son 

“ Surely,  yes— methought  Sir  John  Netterville  was  well 
known  to  you.” 

“ So  I thought,  too,  my  lord,  hut  the  Sir  John  Netterville 
who  was  well  known  to  me  was  a brave  adventurous  knight  of 
the  Confederation — the  gentleman  before  us  weareth  Ormond’s 
colors,  and  cometh  hither,  moreover,  an’  I mistake  not,  on  Or- 
mond’s errand.  I pray  your  lordship  read  mo  this  riddle  !” 

“ It  is  easy  of  solution,”  quoth  the  Palesman  with  icy  cold- 
ness ; “ to  serve  Lord  Ormond  at  the  present  time  is  to  serve 
the  Confederation.” 

“ Ha ! lieth  the  land  that  way  V}  said  O'Neill  musingly,  yet 
so  loud  that  his  words  reached  the  ear  of  the  young  knight. 
For  a moment  his  bold  careless  glance  sank  before  the  piercing 
eye  of  Owen  Roe,  hut  quickly  he  recovered  his  self-possession, 
and  making  his  way  behind  the  high-hacked  oaken  seats  of 
the  hall  to  the  place  where  O'Neill  sat,  he  extended  his  hand 
with  a smile  which  he  meant  for  a cordial  one. 

“ It  is  some  time  since  wre  met,  General !” 

“ The  longer  the  better  it  would  seem,”  interrupted  Owen, 
drawing  himself  up  with  a freezing  air  of  contempt,  and  thrust- 
ing one  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  jacket,  whilst  the  other 
rested  on  his  knee.  “An’  I were  in  your  hoots  with  those 
colors  topping  my  head,  I would  not  stand  where  you  do — no, 
not  for  the  broad  lands  of  Netterville  !” 

Lord  Netterville’s  brow  darkened  and  his  hollow  cheek  turned 
ghastly  pale.  He  was  fain  to  speak,  but  could  not,  and  sat 
with  his  eye  fixed  on  O’Neill  as  though  spell-bound  by  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


375 


extent  of  his  audacity.  His  son  was  less  surprised,  hut  his 
anger,  restrained  by  the  place  and  the  presence  in  which  he 
found  himself,  was  the  deeper  and  the  more  concentrated. 

Approaching  close  to  O’Neill,  he  stooped  down  and  leaning 
over  his  shoulder  whispered  in  a hissing  tone : “ The  favor  of 
the  fair  Emmeline  will  surely  make  up  for  my  defection — I 
sought  her  out  but  late  in  the  sorry  habitation  your  bounty 
hath  given  her — sought  her,  I own  it  in  shame,  to  renew  my 
suit,  and—; — ” 

“ And!”  inquired  Owen,  interested  beyond  concealment. 

“ And  she  spurned  me  from  her  as  though  I were  a dog ! — 
ay,  marry , did  she  !”  and  the  unhappy  young  man  ground  his 
teeth  in  impotent  rage,  while  the  livid  hue  of  his  wasted  cheek 
touched  Owen’s  heart  with  pity.  “ She  spoke  such  harsh  and 
bitter  w.ords  concerning  our  common  ancestry — her  own  and 
mine — that  madness  itself  could  hardly  excuse  her.  She  hath 
gone  mad,  it  is  said  within  the  Pale,  since  Maguire’s  death ; 
ha ! ha ! ha  ! a fitting  end  he  made  of  it — for  my  part,  I think 
you  Irishry  have  bewitched  her,  and  I swore  an  oath  which  I 
mean  to  keep,  that  henceforth  we  meet  as  foemen  should  !” 

“ But  what  of  the  oath  of  Confederation  V' 

“As  for  that,”  said  Netterville  with  alight  laugh,  “let  one 
cancel  the  other.  I have  sworn,  I tell  you,  to  thwart  your 
views,  and,  mark  me,  the  Macs’  and  0’s  shall  rue  the  day  they 
stepped  between  me  and  Emmeline ! 

“ Young  man,  you  are  my  prisoner !”  said  O’Neill  aloud,  and 
he  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder.  In  an  instant  all  was  confu- 
sion ; astonishment  was  depicted  on  every  face,  for  no  one  had 
overheard  the  whispered  dialogue;  and  that  Sir  John  Netterville 
should  have  been  employed  by  Ormond  to  treat  with  his  own 
friends  seemed  no  way  strange  to  the  Norman  lords. 

“At  your  peril,  arrest  me!”  said  young  Netterville  fiercely, 
and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword.  “You  dare  not,  Owen 
O’Neill ! whilst  your  truce  with  Lord  Ormond  lasts — I came 
hither  on  the  plighted  word  of  your  commissioners  who  might 
perchance  share  Glamorgan’s  prison  by  now  were  it  not  for 
me!” 

At  this  moment  the  Nuncio  entered,  and  the  scene  that  met 


376 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


his  eye  was  anything  hut  encouraging,  for  it  seemed  as  though 
the  old  and  the  new  Irish  were  about  to  spring  on  each  other 
with  murderous  intent. 

Several  of  the  bishops  were  already  gathered  around  Owen 
Roe  and  the  handsome  young  knight — to  Rinuccim  a stranger 
— who  stiil  writhed  in  his  iron  grasp.  There  was  a deep  hush 
as  the  Nuncio  approached  and  demanded  in  Latin  of  Bishop 
French  what  this  scene  meant.  Being  informed  he  smiled  sadly 
and  shook  his  head,  muttering  to  himself:  “ It  is  as  I feared — 
these  Ormondists  are  but  one  step  from  the  enemy — their  oath 
is  the  only  tie  that  now  binds  them  to  us.  May  God  change 
their  hearts !” 

With  a heavy  sigh  he  motioned  to  O’Neill  to  let  the  young 
man  go,  and  Owen  obeyod  without  a murmur,  but  he  whispered 
in  Netterville’s  ear  as  he  flung  him  back  to  the  wall : “ We  meet 
again  at  Phillippi ! — go  now  in  peace !” 

With  a black  scowl  of  hate  which  made  Owen  wince  with  all 
his  courage,  Netterville  took  his  father’s  arm  and  both  proceeded 
down  the  hall.  Another  trial  awaited  the  renegade.  Sir  Phe- 
lini  O’Neill  had  made  his  way  into  the  Council-room,  and  hearing 
from  Tirlogh  what  had  taken  place,  he  grasped  Sir  John’s  arm 
as  he  passed  him  by. 

“ What ! turned  traitor  so  soon  7 Doing  Ormond’s  dirty  work  1 
Blood  of  the  Nettervilles  ! what  a fall !” 

“I  have  not  taken  to  forgery  yet,  Sir  Phelim,”  said  Netter- 
ville with  a bitter  sneer,  (t  when  I do,  say  I have  fallen,  not 
before  !” 

The  effect  of  these  words  was  so  stunning  that  before  Sir  Phe- 
lim had  recovered  the  shock,  the  Nettervilles,  father  and  son, 
had  left  the  hall.  Looking  round  with  a ghastly  smile,  the 
knight  of  Kinnard  tried  to  pass  the  matter  off  as  a jest : 

“ Truly  he  is  a pleasant  knave,”  said  he,  “ that  young  Net- 
terville— ever  ready  with  his  answer.  I would  he  were  honest 
as  he  is  witty  !” 

Whatever  importance  Sir  Phelim  or  Owen. might  attach  to 
Sir  John’s  desertion,  the  matter  weighed  but  little  in  the  mind 
of  Binuccini  compared  with  the  treacherous  arrest  of  Glamor- 
gan, which  justified  all  his  previous  suspicions  of  Ormond. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


877 


Even  the  most  devoted  adherents  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  dared 
not  in  the  face  of  such  a fact  defend  him  before  the  Council,  and 
for  the  time,  Rinuccini  had  it  all  his  own  way.  For  himself  ho 
manifested  no  surprise,  declaring  such  an  act  in  perfect  accord- 
ance with  the  view  he  had  taken  of  the  Viceroy’s  character  and 
his  real  sentiments  towards  Catholics. 

His  private  devotions  were  interrupted  that  evening  by  a late 
visit  from  some  four  or  five  of  the  Confederates,  and  the  Nuncio 
wondered  very  much  what  urgent  affair  had  brought  them  at 
such  an  hour.  Bishop  French  was  happily  one  of  the  party,  and 
through  him  the  others  explained  the  nature  of  their  visit. 

“ In  case  they  made  up  their  minds  to  attack  Dublin  without 
delay,  what  support  could  the  Nuncio  give  them  ?” 

Rinuccini’s  heart  swelled  with  joy  at  the  bare  suggestion  of  a 
step  so  bold  and  so  decisive.  Still  he  was  not  in*  a position  to 
answer  them. 

•“  I would  I might  tell  you  on  the  instant,  my  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen,” he  said  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  “but  I know  not 
myself  what  amount  of  money  will  remain  at  my  disposal  till  I 
have  learned  how  much  will  be  expended  on  those  frigates, 
which,  as  you  know,  I have  sent  to  Flanders  to  purchase.  TVe 
have  much  need  of  them  now,  seeing  that  your  privateers  have 
all  departed  from  your  coasts  since  the  first  commencement  of 
the  truce.” 

This  uncertainty  was  not  what  the  Council  had  expected,  and 
the  Nuncio’s  answer,  reported  to  them,  threw  a damp  on  the 
fitful  flash  of  their  ardor  evoked  by  Glamorgan’s  arrest.  O’Neill, 
on  the  contrary,  was  roused  to  more  active  exertion,  and, 
encouraged  by  the  Nuncio’s  undisguised  approval,  and  his  pro- 
mise of  speedy  succor,  he  prepared  to  set  out  for  the  north  in 
company  with  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill,  McMahon  of  Uriel,  and 
O’Reilly  of  Breffny. 

It  was  a gratifying  sight  to  the  Nuncio  when,  the  northern 
chieftains  going  to  crave  his  blessing  prior  to  their  departure, 
Owen  Roe  and  his  fiery  kinsman  lanelt  side  by  side  with  bowed 
heads  and  clasped  hands.  Strong,  firm  man  as  Rinuccini  was, 
his  voice  trembled  with  emotion  as  he  blessed  each  noble  bead, 
and  when  they  arose  he  said  with  a moistened  eye : 


378 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Sons  of  the  Gael,  my  hope  is  in  you.  As  God  liveth, 
you  must  fight  the  battle  for  Him  and  yourselves.  What  aid  I 
have  to  give  shall  be  yours,  and  your  fair  Ulster  shall  be  first 
cleared  of  the  tyrant  foe  !” 

He  then  took  the  hands  of  Sir  Phelim  and  Owen  O’Neill,  and 
joining  them  said : “ Be  you  as  brothers  henceforth — in  union 
ye  conquer.  In  wars  of  this  nature,  self  must  be  forgotten,  and 
only  the  common  good  and  the  holy  cause  kept  in  view.” 

At  this  moment  Sir  John  Netterville  was  announced,  and  the 
Nuncio,  fearing  the  result  of  such  a meeting  after  what  he  had 
witnessed  in  the  Council  Hall,  requested  the  chieftains  to  withdraw 
into  another  apartment  till  the  new  visitor  had  retired.  On  the 
threshold  they  met  Netterville.  He  would  have  passed  them  in 
contemptuous  silence,  but  Sir  Phelim  could  not  refrain  from 
giving  him  a piece  of  his  mind. 

“ An’  your  face  were  not  made  of  brass,”  said  he,  “ you  would 
not  dare  show  it  here.  After  all,  you’re  more  to  be  pitied  than 
anything  else.  Pass  on 

The  fierce  retort  on  Netterville’s  lip  was  changed  for  a gesture 
of  defiance,  for  through  the  open  door  the  young  man  caught 
the  stern  glante  of  Rinuccini  fixed  full  upon  him,  and  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  embarrassment  he  entered  the  room  whilst 
Owen  Roe  turned  and  looked  after  him  a moment  with  a heavy 
sigh. 

“ Poor  fellow  !”  he  said  within  himself,  “ I had  better  hopes  of 
him  through  all  my  dark  forebodings !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


379 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

“ Give  praise  to  the  Virgin  Mother ! O’Neill  is  at  Benburb. 

The  chieftain  of  the  martial  soul,  who  scorns  the  Saxon  curb ; 
Between  the  hills  his  camp  is  pitch’d,  and  in  its  front  upthrown, 

The  Red  Hand  points  t > victory  from  the  standard  of  Tyrone  ; 
Behind  him  rise  the  ancient  woods,  while  on  his  flank  anear  him, 

The  deep  Blackwater  calmly  glides  and  seems  to  greet  and  cheer  him. 

11  By  all  the  Saints  they’re  welcome  ! across  the  crested  wave, 
Fq^few  who  left  Kinnad  this  morn  ere  night  shall  lack  a grave. 

The  hour — the  man,  await  them  now,  and  retribution  dire 
Shall  sweep  their  ranks  from  front  to  rear,  by  our  avenging  fire  ; 
Yet  on  they  march  in  pride  of  heart — the  hell-engender’d  gloom 
Of  the  grim,  predestined  Puritan  impels  them  to  their  doom.” 

.IIayes’  Irish  Ballads. 

Passing  over  the  spring  months  of  that  memorable  year  of 
1646,  fruitful  as  they  were  in  stirring  events,  we  will  convey  the 
reader  once  again  to  those  scenes  of  old  renown  where  the  an- 
cient keep  of  Benburb  overhangs  “ the  Avon  Dhu  of  the  north” 
— Avon  Dhu  of  the  O’Neills. 

It  is  a radiant  night  in  early  June  and 

• “ Beneath  a bright  and  bonny  moon,” 

shining  high  in  mid  heaven,  two  great  armies  are  again  en- 
camped. Again  Monroe  is  there  with  his  whole  force;  no  less 
than  ten  regiments  of  foot  and  fifteen  troops  of  horse  lie  along 
the  Blackwater  under  his  command  this  summer  night.  And 
the  Irish  army,  beyond  the  river,  looked  wondrous  small  com- 
pared with  that  Scottish  host ; so  well  it  might  for  it  numbered 
scarce  five  thousand  foot,  with  eight  companies  of  horse.*  But 
that  little  army  was  a host  in  itself,  a mighty  host,  for  not  Cas- 
tlehaven  with  his  Norman  auxiliaries  from  the  Pale  was  there, 
but  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  with  the  clans  of  Ulster,  the  impetuous 


* Rinuccini’s  Memoirs. 


380 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


sons  of  the  soil,  burning  to  wreak  revenge  on  the  Scots,  who 
for  six  long  years  had  been  working  their  wicked  will  on  man, 
woman  and  child,  till  they  had  made  the  fair  land  a desert. 
Few  were  the  Catholics  as  compared  with  their  foes,  hut  for 
every  man  that  was  wanting  the  ghosts  of  slaughtered  friends 
and  kindred  were  there  in  scores  ; their  shadowy  presence  per- 
vaded all  the  ranks,  for  each  man  there  had  his  share  of  the  dis- 
mal memories  of  those  bloody  years,  and  every  arm  was  nerved 
with  superhuman  strength,  now  that  the  cherished  hopes  of 
years  were  approaching  their  consummation.  Owen  Roe,  with 
the  sanction  and  advice  of  the  Nuncio,  was,  at  last,  confronting 
the  Scots,  determined  to  drive  them  from  Ulster  if  there  was 
strength  in  him  or  his.  The  clans  of  Ulster  were  well  represented 
on  that  battle-eve,  for  though  few  or  none  were  there  entii%, 
hardly  one  was  wanting.  O’Neills  and  Maguires,  McMahons 
and  O’ Hanlons,  O’Reillys  and  O’Rourkes  from  the  two  Breffnys, 
O'Boyles  and  McSweenys,  and  O’Muldoons  from  the  north,  and 
O’Donnells  and  O’Cahans  from  the  farthest  north  of  all  where 
the  Foyle  and  the  Roe  wind  their  silvery  way  through  the 
mountain-glens  of  Donegal  and  Derry.  O’Doghertys  were  not 
wanting  from  wild  Innishowen,  from  the  banks  of  “ the  bounti- 
ful Culdaff” — ay ! they  were  there,  a stalwart  band,  those  song- 
famed  “ tall  peasants  of  fair  Innishowen,”  well  prepared  to  read 
the  riddlet  of  Ireland’s  fate  at  the  bidding  of  Owen  Roe. 

And  how  were  the  clansmen  employed  during  those  moonlit 
hours  within  sight  of  the  enemy  whom  they  had  hurried  from 
the  border  country  to  meet  I Who  were  the  men  in  black  cas- 
socks—few  they  were  in  number,  not  more  than  three  or  four — 
who  glided  hither  and  thither  amongst  them,  or,  seated  on  ar- 
tillery-wagons on  either  slope  of  the  two  hills  between  which 
the  army  lay,  raised  their  right  hand  over  the  head  of  every 

t “ When  they  tell  us  the  tale  of  a.  spell-stricken  band, 

All  entranced,  with  their  bridles  and  broadswords  in  hand, 

Who  await  but  the  word  to  give  Erin  her  own, 

They  can  read  you  that  riddle  in  proud  Innishowen. 

Hurrah  .for  the  spearmen  of  proud  Innishowen  ! — 

Long  live  the  wild  seers  of  stout  Innishowen  ! — 

May  Mary  our  Mother  be  deaf  to  their  moan 
Who  love  not  the  promise  of  proud  Innishowen.” 

C.  G.  Dufy. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


381 


soldier  there  as 'he  knelt  in  turn  before  them  1 Reader,  the  men 
•were  confessing  their  sins,  in  preparation  for  a still  more  solemn 
rite,  and  of  the  priests  who  heard  them  one  was  Father  Eugene,  an 
eminent  Franciscan,  who  had  been  appointed  by  the  Nuncio 
Chaplain  to  the  Ulster  forces,  and  another,  our  old  friend,  Father 
Phelimy  O’Cahan.  On  the  skirt  of  a wood  in  the  rear  of  the  army 
sat  Heber  of  Clogher,  on  the  stump  of  a fallen  tree,  engaged  in  the 
same  pious  work,  albeit  that  the  stole  which  marked  his  priestly 
office  was  in  stern  and  strange  contrast  with  the  stuffed  jerkin 
which  encased  his  brawny  shoulders  and  the  steel  morion  which 
lay  beside  him  on  the  grass.  Yes,  the  patriotic  prelate  had 
clearly  girded  on  the  sword,  ambitious,  it  might  be,  of  sharing 
Archbishop  Malachy’s  glorious  fate.  Near  and  around  where 
the  bishop  sat  the  men  of  Uriel  were  encamped,  McMahons  and 
McKennas,  and  the  stout  borderers  of  Farney,  and  whilst  some 
were  on  their  knees  preparing  for  confession,  others  were  en- 
gaged in  the  construction  of  an  altar  under  the  skilful  direction 
of  Malachy  na  soggarth.  If  ever  man  was  in  his  element  it  was 
Malachy  that  night,  and  the  usual  gravity  of  his  demeanor  was 
deepened  into  a solemn  dignity  befitting  his  high  office,  for 
Malachy  esteemed  himself  on  that  occasion  second  to  no  other  in 
importance.  His  claims  were  tacitly.a.cknowledged  by  the  bold 
clansmen  around,  who  came  and  went,  and  fetched  and  carried 
at  Malachy’s  high  behest,  all  well  pleased  to  have  a hand  in  so 
great  a work — under  the  direction  of  “ Bishop  McMahon’s  right 
hand  man.” 

Yes ! Malachy  was  in  his  glory,  and  by  a curious  coincidence, 
Shamus  Beg  O’Hagan  was  again  his  companion,  as  on  that  other 
night  five  years  gone  by  when  the  long  unused  chapel  of  Kin- 
nard  Castle  was  the  scene  of  his  pious  labors.  But  Shamus  was 
no  idle  spectator  at  this  time  listening  to  old-world  stories,  for 
with  Donogh  the  Rapparee,  and  one  or  two  others,  he  was  busily 
engaged  forming  a canopy  of  flags  to  protect  the  altar  from 
wind  and  weather.  The  manner  in  which  this  task  was  per- 
formed had  given  Malachy  entire  satisfaction,  till,  stepping  back 
a few  paces  to  ascertain  the  general  effect,  he  cried  out  all 
aghast : 


382 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Good  Lord ! Shamus,  isn’t  that  the  Red  Hand  you  have  on 
the  top  above !” 

“ An’  to  be  sure  it  is,  Mai-achy ! — what  else  would  it  be  1” 

“ Why,  my  soul  to  God,  Shamus!  but  you’re  a bit  of  a gho- 
meril  after  all — isn’t  it  our  flag  that  ought  to  be  there,  not 
yours  ? ’ 

“ Ha ! ha  ! Malachy ! wise  as  you  are,  I have  you  this  time” 
— and  Shamus  indulged  in  a low  chuckling  laugh.  “ Sure  you 
needn't  object  to  have  the  Red  Hand  uppermost  when  your 
chief  will  fight  under  it  to-morrow  V ’ 

Malachy  gave  in  with  a heavy  sigh,  muttering,  “ I suppose  it’s 
to  be  or  it  wouldn't  be.” 

“ Don’t  sigh  so  heavily,  old  friend,”  said  the  deep  voice  of 
Donogh,  or  rather  Phelim  McGee.  “ They’re  not  on  Irish 
ground  this  night  that  need  be  ashamed  to.  follow  the  beck  of 
the  Red  Hand.  Owen  Roe  is  the  man  for  us  !” 

“ Who  says  he  isn’t  V'  questioned  Malachy  in  a snappish  tone 
all  unusual  with  him.  “ My  lord !”  said  he,  approaching  the 
bishop  who  had  just  dismissed  from  his  knee  a gigantic  follower 
of  Rory  Maguire,  “ my  lord ! if  you  don’t  take  a few  hours’ 
rest  you’ll  not  be  able  to  lift  your  head  in  the  morning !” 

“ No  need  to  lift  it  surely  when  I don’t  lay  it  down,”  said  the 
good-humored  prelate,  “ and  besides,  Malachy,  it  matters  little 
when  to-morrow’s  sunset  may  find  that  same  head  stiff  and  cold 
— let  me  alone,  I pray  you!  for  much  remains  to  be  done,  and 
the  time  is  short.  Kneel !”  he  said  to  a stout  gallowglass  who  had 
been  waiting  patiently  for  his  turn — “ bestir  yourself,  Malachy  ! 
— and  see  that  tb.e  vestments  be  all  in  order — Mass  will  com- 
mence ere  long.”  Away  started  Malachy  to  one  of  the  bag- 
gage wagons  in  quest  of  his  vestments  and  altar  linen,  whilst 
Shamus  Beg  stood  looking  at  the  altar  and  the  banners  all 
clearly  revealed  in  the  moonlight,  and  somehow  a feeling  of  sad- 
ness stole  over  him.  It  was  not  fear — for  Shamus  never  feared 
“ man  or  devil,”  as  he  often  boasted,  but  rather  a heavy  weight 
as  of  sorrow.  Angry  with  himself  for  being  so  “ down-hearted” 
he  muttered  between  his  teeth : “ Ah,  then,  Shamus  boy,  what’s 
coming  over  you  at  all  'l — sure  it  wouldn’t  be  fear  that’s  on  you, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS.  383 

after  all  tlie  bloody  battles  you’ve  bad  a hand  in  ! Come,  come, 
rouse  yourself  now,  and  b$  a man !” 

Turning  quickly  to  regain  Sir  Phelim’s  tent  whence  he  had 
issued  some  half  an  hour  before,  he  met  the  deep  earnest  eyes 
of  Angus  Dhu  fixed  full  upon  him.  The  young  Rapparee  was 
leaning  on  the  handle  of  his  pike  immovable  as  a statue.  His 
face  was  paler  than  usual  and  his  garments  covered  with  dust, 
for  Angus  had  ridden  hard  and  fast  since  the  night  fell  to  be 
present  at  the  expected  battle.  He  had  but  just  arrived  and 
exchanged  a brotherly  greeting  with  his  captain  who  expressed 
his  joy  that  he  came  in  time  with  the  little  party  under  his 
command.  Shamus  and  Angus  were  ever  glad  to  meet,  and  it 
was  some  time  since  they  had  met  before. 

“ Well ! if  that  isn’t  queer,”  said  the  foster-brother  with  a 
start ; “ you’re  the  very  one  I was  thinking  of,  Angus ! When 
did  you  get  in,  or  how  are  you  at  all 

“ I got  in  about  ten  minutes  ago,  and  I’m  well  enough  only  a 
little  tired,  ftut  I mean  to  take  an  hour’s  sleep  or  two,  if  the 
enemy  lets  us  alone  that  long,  and  then,  please  God,  I’ll  be  able 
for  any  Scotch  devil  amongst  them!  But  how  is^ yourself, 
Shamus  1 I don’t  know  whether  it’s  on  my  eyes  it  is,  but  I 
think  you’re  not  in  the  best  of  health.”  And  the  young  man’s 
voice  trembled  slightly. 

“Health!  Angus!”  cried  Shamus,  cutting  one  of  the  frolic- 
some capers  of  Auld  lang  syne.  “ Is  it  me  not  in  good  health ! 
— never  was-  better  in  all  my  born  days — an’  sure  if  I wasn’t 
even,  the  very  thoughts  of  to-morrow  would  make  me  a new 
man.  But  listen,  Angus,  to  what  I’m  going  to  tell  you,  for  we 
don’t  knoW  the  minute  the  alarm  may  come,  and  I wouldn’t 
miss  the  chance  of  saying  what  I have  to  say — no,  not  for  broad 
Tyr-Owen.  In  the  first  place,  then,  I’m  overjoyed  to  see  you, 
Angus.” 

'*  No  need  to  tell  me  that,  anyhow,”  the  Rapparee  replied 
with  sly  emphasis, 

“ Well,  well,  what  I mean  is  that  I’m  doubly  glad  to  see  you 
now  for  a reason  I have.” 

“ And  what  is  it*?” 

“ If  anything  happens  me  to-morrow,  I want  you  to  take  this 


384 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


broken  ring  to  a gersha  down  in  the  County  Antrim.  She  has 
the  other  half,  and  you  will  give  her  this,  and  tell  her  it’s  the 
only  ring  she’ll  ever  get  from  Shamus  O’Hagan.  Tell  her  it  isn’t 
his  fault,  but  he  did  what  he  promised  to  do  when  the  war  was 
over  and  our  rights  gained.  If  I live,  please  God,  I’ll  get  back 
the  ring  from  you,  Angus,  and  take  it  down  there  myself,  but  if 
I don’t*— you’ll  be  sure  to  do  it.” 

“ But  supposing  I fab  myself—”  suggested  Angus,  smiling 
through  tears.  “ How  then  1” 

“ Pooh,  pooh,  you'll  not  fall — there’s  no  danger  in  life ! Keep 
the  ring,  and  do  as  I bid  you !” 

Angus  laughed,  yet  there  was  little  mirth  in  his  laugh.  He 
suddenly  took  hold  of  his  friend’s  hand  and  clasped  it  with  con- 
vulsive energy. 

“ Shamus  !”  said  he,  “ you  don’t  know  all  the  love  that’s  in  my 
heart  for  you.  You  don’t,  Shamus,  but  maybe  you  will  soon. 
Anyhow,  I’ll  do  your  bidding — Aileen  Magee  shall  have  the 
ring — that’s  if  anything  happens  you”  • 

“ Aileen  Magee !”  repeated  Shamus  in  amazement,  “ why, 
sure  I never  mentioned  her  name — or  did  I — for,  indeed,  there’s 
such  a load  on  my  heart  that  it  makes  me  dull  and  heavy  like 
— Did  I tell  you  the  girleen’s  name  1” 

“ Well,  no !” — and  Angus  smiled  faintly — “ but  if  you  didn’t, 
maybe  some  one  else  did.  ’ Move  a little  this  way,  for  there’s 

the  General  going  to  confession ” 

“ The  general ! which  general? — oh!  I see,  it’s  Owen  Roe  you 
mean  ! I thought  it  might  be  Sir  Phelim,  but  sure,  no  matter, 
it’s  all  in  the  family.  Well,  the  Lord  be  with  you,  Angus — but 
stay,  stay” — and  approaching  him,  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
whisper — “ I forgot  to  tell  you  where  you’d  light  on  Aileen.” 

“ Oh,  never  mind !”  replied  Angus,  with  a careless  toss  of  his 
head ; “‘when  I want  to  find  her,  I’ll  know  where  to  go.  She’ll 
be  little  worth,  anyhow,  by  the  time  your  message  reaches 
her.” 

“ What’s  that  you  say  1” 

“ I say  it’s  not  far  from  daylight  now — ahem ! so  I’ll  off  and 
help  Phelim — oh,  bother ! Donogh  I mean — to  get  the  boys  in 
readiness.  Hillo  ! there’s  his  whistle,  I must  be  off.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


385 


“But  Angus — stay  one  minute ! — where — when  will  I see  you 
again  V ’ 

“ God  knows,”  said  Angus  with  emotion,  “ God  knows,  Shamus 
aroon ! — why,  the  captain  is  in  a hurry  !”  Putting  his  hand  to 
his  mouth  he  returned  the  signal  call,  then  wrung  Shamus  by 
both  hands,  and  darted  off  into  the  wood,  where,  for  the  pre- 
sent, the  Rapparees  were  placed.  An  hour  later  and  they  were 
sent  by  the  general  to  aid  in  the  defence  of  the  bridge  already 
held  by  a detachment  from  Sir  Con  Magennis’s  regiment. 

The  day  was  just  dawning  when  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  stood  at 
the  door  of  his  kinsman’s  tent  and  peered  cautiously  in  expecting 
to  find  Owen  asleep.  Not  so,  however,  for  the  latter  was  on  his 
knees  in  full  equipment,  whilst  his  two  aide-de-camps,  also 
drest,  lay  sleeping  soundly  with  their  heads  resting  on  the  side 
of  the  heathery  couch  that  had  been  prepared  for  the  general. 

“ Humph !”  said  Phelim,  as  Owen  rose  and  came  forward,  “ at 
your  devotions  so  early  1 — what  with  the  squalling  of  psalms 
yonder,  and  the  praying  and  so  forth  here , so  pious  a battle  was 
never  fought  as  this  is  like  to  be.  But  that  is  not  what  I came 
to  say.  They  tell  me  you  sent  off  Colonel  Bernard  McMahon 
and  Colonel  Patrick  McAneny  over  night  with  their  whole  regi- 
ments— up  Monaghan  side.  Is  it  true,  Owen,  or  is  it  not  1” 

“ It  is  true  1 — but  what  then 

“ Why,  I’d  like  to  know  what  put  that  in  your  head,  and  we 
scarce  half  the  number  of  the  enemy  at  our  best  'l  Come,  now, 
Fabius  of  your  country  !*  answer  me  that !”  He  spoke  in  a 
tone  half  jeering,  half  friendly,  and  Owen  was  not  the  man  to 
resent  a joke,  however  surly,  from  a brother-general  at  such  a 
moment. 

“ I will  answer  you,  Phelim,  and  truly,”  said  Owen  with  per- 
fect good  humor ; “ nay,  more,  to  your  satisfaction.  I have 
learned  that  Monroe  had  sent  to  his  brother  Robert  to  join  him 
without  delay  with  all  the  forces  at  his  command,  and  as  the 
latter  would  come  on  us  from  the  rear  we  should  find  ourselves 
between  two  fires,  either  of  which  is  enough  for  our  numbers 

* Owen  Roe  was  from  an  early  period  of  the  war  distinguished  by 
this  proud  and  honorable  title. 

17 


386 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


to  cope  with.  How  think  you,  cousin ! was  I not  right  in 
sparing  those  two  regiments,  if  happily  they  can  keep  Colonel 
Robert  back  until  we  have  settled  with  Covenanting  George  P’f 

“ Forgive  me,  Eogliain  !”  said  honest  Phelim  with  some  emo- 
tion ; “ I know  you  are  a wiser  man  than  I,  and  have  a longer 
head  by  a great  deal.  You  are  the  shield , I know  well,  but  let 
blustering  Phelim  be  the  sword  and  you  shall  have  the  planning 
of  all.  Tell  me,  do  you  mean  to  attack,  or  wait  Monroe’s  onset 
— which  'l  See  the  sun  is  already  peeping  on  us  from  behind 
the  hill !” 

“ Hark  ! is  not  that  the  low  tinkle  of  a bell  1”  said  Owen  with 
a start. 

“ Bell,  indeed  !”  answered  Phelim  with  a laugh  ; “ sure  it’s 
dreaming  you  are,  Owen  Roe  ! I hear  a sound  like  the  measured 
clash  of  steel,  but  no  bell.” 

“ Anyhow,  it  is  the  signal  for  Mass,  I know  that !”  said  Owen, 
and  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  proceeded  to  rouse  his  drowsy 
aide- de- camps ! 

“ When,  oh ! when  shall  I hear  thee  no  more,  bell  of  old 
Eglish  ! Art  thou  a knell  for  me  or  mine  this  day  1 Not  so,  for 
I feel  within  me  the  assurance  of  victory  !” 

The  sun  had  but  just  raised  his  broad  disk  above  the  horizon 
when  Bishop  McMahon  in  his  loud  clear  tones  was  reciting  the 
Introibo  ad  aliare  Dei  at  the  foot  of  the  military  altar,  with 
Father  Hartegan,  one  of  the  chaplains  of  the  army,  serving  Mass, 
and  Malachy,  of  course,  in  official  attendance.  On  one  side 
knelt  Father  Phelimy  O’Cahan,  his  aged  face  beaming  with  the 
light  of  hope,  on  the  other  the  tall  dignified  form  of  the  Fran- 
ciscan, Father  Eugene,  the  Nuncio’s  special  representative.  In 
a semicircle  fronting  the  altar  were  Owen  Roe  and  Sir  Phelim 
O’Neill,  Sir  Con  Magennis,  Owen  O’Rourke,  Philip  O’Reilly  and 
Art  McMahon,  the  principal  chiefs  of  the  army ; the  colonels 
and  other  officers  remained  with  their  regiments  for  fear  of  sur- 
prise. A few  yards  back  knelt  Roderick  Maguire  at  the  head 

+ General  Monroe  had  a little  before  this  taken  the  “ Solemn 
League  and  Covenant”  on  bended  knee  in  the  high  kirk  of  Car- 
rickfergus. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


387 


of  his  column,  and  by  his  side  was  Lorcan,  looking  twenty  years 
younger  than  when  we  last  saw  him,  and  grasping  with  the 
vigor  of  lusty  manhood  the  long  spear  which  for  old  times’  sake 
he  still  used  in  war.  Like  a sturdy  oak  of  his  own  woods  was 
Lorcan,  hale,  strong  and  vigorous  even  in  decay.  And  how 
lovingly  the  old  man  clutched  his  spear  as  he  thought  of  his 
murdered  Connor  and  wished  he  had  lived  to  see  that  day  ! 

And  as  he  wished,  he  raised  his  eyes  towards  the  altar,  and 
lo  ! what  sight  was  there  that  enchained  his  wandering  glance  ] 
Two  female  figures  wrapt  in  sable  drapery  knelt  close  behind 
Father  Phelimy,  their  faces  concealed  by  deep  riding-hoods. 

“ Lord  save  us  !”  ejaculated  Lorcan,  “ are  the  spirits  come  in 
broad  daylight  ] I suppose,  now,  nobody  sees  them  but  myself, 
for  sure  the  sight  of  them  would  make  more  of  a scatterment 
than  Monroe’s  cavalry.  Well ! who  knows  but  they  come  for 
me  at  last — indeed  one  oi  them  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  poor  dead 
sister,  Eveleen  O’Cahan — and  they’re  welcome  as  the  flowers  in 
May,  if  that  be  their  errand — let  me  only  have  a few  hours’  good 
hard  fighting  with  those  Scotch  devils  below  and  see  them  fairly 
taken  to  their  legs,  and  Til  go  with  all  my  heart  wherever  God 
pleases.” 

Lorgan’s  surmise  appeared  correct,  for  no  one  but  himself 
appeared  to  notice  the  shadowy  forms.  For  himself,  he  could 
hardly  take  his  eyes  off  them  though  he  struggled  hard  to  avoid 
so  grievous  a distraction,  especially  as  he  was  preparing  to  re- 
ceive the  holiest  of  sacraments.  But  the  sight  of  the  dark  mo- 
tionless figures,  fresh  from  the  world  of  spirits,  was  more  than 
Lorcan’s  piety  could  resist,  and  do  as  he  would  his  eyes  were 
ever  turning  stealthily  in  their  direction,  whilst  his  lips  and  his 
heart  prayed  with  fervor  and  his  fingers  told  the  beads  of  his 
Rosary. 

It  was  a solemn  sight,  take  it  altogether,  when  the  soldier- 
bishop  offered  up  the  Atoning  Sacrifice  of  the  New  Law  in 
sight  of  that  valiant  army  on  the  banks  of  the  Blackwater — 
when  every  head  was  bowed  in  adoration,  and  every  heart 
raised  to  heaven.  It  was  a goodly  sight,  too,  to  see  the  rough 
warriors  of  the  mountains,  the  kerns  and  gallowglasses  of  many 
a clan,  kneeling  in  whole  battalions  in  the  light  of  the  morning 


388 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


sun,  with  the  rich  rays  playing  on  their  shining  arms  and  accou- 
trements, and  the  fresh  breeze  sporting  with  the  plumes  which 
shaded  noble  brows  and  rustling  in  the  banners  above  the 
simple  altar,  whilst  the  Sacred  Host  was  elevated  between,  earth 
and  heaven  by  the  bishop’s  consecrated  hands.  No  less  solemn 
or  imposing  was  the  sight  when,  at  the  Communion,  the  General 
and  all  his  officers  advanced  in  regular  order  and  received  the 
Bread  of  Life,  the  musicians  striking  up  at  the  moment  a soft 
and  plaintive  air.  Many  a glorious  scene  had  old  Avon  Dhu 
witnessed  on  its  banks,  but  never  one  more  glorious  than  that. 
Oh ! the  ineffable  grandeur  which  encircled  the  brow  of  Owen 
Roe  as  he  stepped  forward  first  of  all,  making  a sign  to  Sir 
Phelim  to  take  his  place  by  his  side.  It  was  not  that  the 
chieftain  looked  exalted  in  his  own  estimation,  for  his  demeanor 
was  that  of  an  humble  and  sincere  Christian,  calm  and  collected 
— no,  but  the  effect  of  his  example  was  such,  and  so  striking, 
that  there  was  not  a man  on  the  hill  of  Benburb  that  hour  who 
did  not  bow  down  in  spirit  before  so  great  and  good  a man. 

After  the  Ite  Missa  Est  Father  Eugene,  putting  on  his  stole, 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  altar  (they  were  formed  of  mountain 
heather  closely  packed  together  beneath  many  folds  of  tent- 
canvas)  and  gave  the  solemn  Papal  benediction.  That  done, 
there  was  a mighty  rushing  sound  and  a deafening  clang  of 
arms ; it  was  the  men  rising  from  their  knees  and  each  grasping 
his  weapon.  Then  arose  on  the  morning  air  a wild  enthusiastic 
cheer  from  those  thousands  and  thousands  of  brave  hearts ; it 
was  for  his  Holiness  Innocent  X.,  the  friend  and  protector  of 
the  oppressed  Catholics  of  Ireland.  That  cheer  echoed  far  and 
wide  over  the  country,  and  pealed  on  the  ears  of  Monroe’s  grim 
Puritans  as  a challenge  to  mortal  combat.  They  had  witnessed 
from  afar  the  morning  devotions  of  the  Irish,  and  the  sight  of 
the  altar  filled  them  with  fury ; the  cheers  of  the  Catholics  were 
answered  by  them  with  howls  of  execration,  and  cries  of 
“ Death  to  the  worshippers  of  idols ! — wo  to  the  followers  of 
Baal ! The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon !” 

Monroe  had  effected  a junction  on  the  previous  day  with 
Hamilton’s  forces,  and  the  presence  of  that  savage  leader  was 
speedily  detected  by  the  Clan  O’Rourke,  who  testified  their  joy 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


389 


by  shouts  of  fierce  exultation.  Oar  old  acquaintance,  Manus, 
had  risen  to  the  rank  of  captain,  and  his  company  was  com- 
posed of  his  own  kinsmen,  every  man  of  them  sworn  to  deadli- 
est revenge  on  the  murderer  of  their  youthful  Tanist.  The 
blood-stained  flag  of  the  Hamiltons  waving  on  the  right  flank 
of  the  Scottish  army  was  early  in  the  day  pointed  out  by  Manus 
to  his  men,  and  even  the  calm  chieftain  himself,  noble  and 
chivalrous  as  he  was,  could  not  help  expressing  his  satisfaction 
that  the  day  so  long  wished  for  was  come  at  last. 

Never  did  two  armies  face  each  other  with  more  stern  deter- 
mination or  greater  ardor  for  the  fight  than  on  that  day  at 
Benburb.  On  the  part  of  the  Scotch  there  was  the  fanatical 
desire  to  clear  the  land  of  the  old  idolatrous  natives,  the  “ Am- 
monites” and  “ Moabites,”  of  their  Scriptural  cant.  Fancying 
themselves,  like  the  Hebrews  of  old,  commissioned  to  destroy 
and  exterminate  a race  so  odious  to  their  God,  they  stood  glaring 
on  the  Irish  enemy  across  the  watery  barrier  which,  as  yet,  they 
might  not  pass.  They  had  tried  the  bridge  early  in  the  morning, 
but  were  repulsed  by  its  gallant  defenders  in  a style  that  fully 
justified  Owen’s  choice.  The  serried  pikes  of  the  Rapparees 
were  found  as  a wall  of  iron  which  no  Scottish  steel  might  pen- 
etrate. Again  and  again  the  attempt  was  made,  and  again  and 
again  did  the  exulting  shout  of  the  Rapparees  mark  the  enemy’s 
discomfiture.  Loudly  laughed  the  woodsmeD,  and  fondly  they 
patted  their  trusty  pikes,  vowing  that  they  should  make  a 
closer  acquaintance  with  “ the  murdering  Scotch”  before  noon- 
day. It  was  long  since  they  felt  their  hearts  so  light— 

“ The  fearless  Rapparees ! 

Oh  ! the  jewel  were  you,  Rory,  with  your  Irish  Rapparees !” 

But  the  covenanters  were  too  fiercely  athirst  for  Papist  blood 
to  be  so  easily  baulked,  and  Monroe,  urged  by  Hamilton  and 
others  of  his  officers,  resolved  to  march  along  the  river  edge  to 
Kinard  and  there  effect  a passage. 

Leaving  them  to  accomplish  this  design,  marvelling  much  at 
what  they  considered  the  neglect  of  O’Neill  in  leaving  the  ford 
at  Kinard  undefended,  we  will  return  again  to  the  Irish  army 
and  to  Lorcan  Maguire  at  the  close  of  the  apostolic  benediction. 


390 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


He  had  bowed  his  head  reverently  to  receive  the  blessing,  and 
his  first  glance  on  raising  it  again  was  towards  the  supposed 
spirits.  They  had  vanished,  and  Lorcan  crossed  himself  devout- 
ly, muttering  between  his  teeth  : 

“ Heaven’s  rest  to  you,  Eveleen  Maguire  ! — but  I wonder  who 
the  other  is — maybe  my  own  fair  Una!” — meaning  the  wife  of 
his  youth  lost  in  the  first  year  of  their  marriage — “ pity  Connor 
wasn’t  with  them — but  I suppose  he  wasn’t  allowed.  No  matter, 
no  matter,  I'll  see  them  all  soon , and,  through  God’s  mercy,  for 
ever  more !” 

The  old  man  little  dreamed  that  the  supposed  spirits  had 
merely  emerged  from  the  wood  to  hear  Mass,  or  that  Owen  Roe 
and  Father  Phelimy  had  been  trying  in  vain  to  exorcise  them 
hours  before  the  first  cock-crow.  The  most  stubborn  of  ghostly 
creatures,  they  refused  to  quit  the  place  come  what  might. 
Surrounded  by  a small  party  of  the  Rapparees  commanded  by 
Angus  Dhu,  they  busied  themselves  in  making  what  prepara- 
tions their  poverty  permitted  for  the  relief  of  those  who  should 
be  wounded  in  the  battle,  whilst  a cross  formed  of  two  branches 
was  nailed  to  the  trunk  of  a tree,  as  though  to  sanctify  the  place. 
Who  that  saw  Emmeline  Coote  when  she  reigned  supreme  over 
Dublin  drawing-rooms,  and  bestowed  prizes  with  smiling  grace 
on  those  who  shed  the  most  of  Papist  blood,  could  have  recog- 
nized her  in  the  sad  companion  of  Judith  O’Cahan  that  day, 
raising  her  soul-lit  eyes  ever  and  anon  to  the  rude  emblem  of 
salvation  the  while  she  prayed  for  success  to  the  Catholic  arms  1 
Yet  Emmeline  herself  it  was,  and  not  even  Judith  was  more 
wildly  anxious  for  the  overthrow  of  the  Puritans  than  that 
daughter  of  the  bloody  Cootes. 

Apprised  by  the  faithful  Rapparees  of  the  expected  collision 
of  the  hostile  armies,  the  two  ladies  with  their  aged  protector 
had  journeyed  with  all  haste  to  the  neighborhood  of  Charlemont, 
as  the  probable  scene  of  the  coming  conflict.  Father  Phelimy 
having  once  joined  the  army,  determined  to  remain  for  the 
spiritual  succor  of  the  soldiers,  but  he  shrank,  and  so  did  Owen 
Roe,  at  the  thought  of  the  dangers  to  which  Judith  and  Emme- 
line voluntarily  exposed  themselves. 

But  Judith  would  not  hear  of  danger.  “ Your  turn  is  corn© 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


891 


now,”  said  she  to  Owen,  as  at  midnight  the  four  stood  together 
looking  out  through  an  opening  of  the  wood  upon  the  motion- 
less columns  of  the  army,  as  they  knelt  in  preparation  for  con- 
fession ; “ God  is  with  you — the  shadow  of  His  presence  is  over 
your  army — fear  not,  oh ! first  of  the  sons  of  Ireland  ! the  Al- 
binach  is  delivered  to  the  swords  of  our  avengers,  so  sure  as 
yonder  moon  walks  the  heavens  in  light !” 

“ First  of  the  sons  of  Ireland  !”  repeated  Owen  to  himself  with 
a thrill  of  joy ; aloud  he  said  : “ An’  we  conquer,  the  lady  Judith 
hath  no  small  share  in  our  success ; much  hath  she  done  of  late 
in  nourishing  the  flame  of  patriotic  ardor.” 

“ I pray  you  name  it  not,”  said  Judith  hastily,  as  she  turned 
away ; “I  did  nothing — the  Scottish  murderers  did  all — all ! 
Come,  Emmeline,  let  us  retire ! — God  keep  you,  general ! Bless 
us,  father,  before  you  go  to  enter  on  your  sacred  office  !” 

Not  to  rest  but  to  prayer  did  the  ladies  retire,  and  Malachy’s 
signal  found  them  still  kneeling  before  their  cross. 


392 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


“ Our  rude  array’s  a jagged  rock  to  smash  the  spoiler’s  power, 

Or  need  we  aid,  His  aid  we  have  who  doom’d  this  gracious  hour. 
Of  yore  He  led  His  Hebrew  host  to  peace  through  strife  and  pain, 
And  us  He  leads  the  self-same  path,  the  self-same  goal  to  gain.” 

C.  G.  Duffy. 

“Like  lions  leaping  at  a fold,  when  mad  with  hunger’s  pang, 

Right  up  against  the  English  line  the  Irish  exiles  sprang, 

Bright  was  their  steel,  ’tis  bloody  now,  their  guns  are  fill’d  with 
gore  ; 

Thro’  shatter’d  ranks,  and  sever’d  files,  and  trampled  flags  they 
tore ; 

The  English  strove  with  desperate  strength,  paused,  rallied,  stag- 
ger'd, fled — 

The  green-hill  side  is  matted  close  with  dying  and  with  dead  ; 
Across  the  plain  and  far  away  pass’d  on  that  hideous  wrack, 

While  cavalier  and  fantassin  dash  in  upon  their  track, 

On  Fontenoy,  on  Fontenoy,  like  eagles  in  the  sun, 

With  bloody  plumes  the  Irish  stand— the  field  is  fought  and  won.” 

Thomas  Davis. 

It  was  high  noon  that  day  when  Owen  Roe  O’Neill  appeared 
again  before  the  anxious  watchers  in  the  wood.  He  was  paler 
than  his  wont,  and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  trembled  slightly, 
but  his  manner  was  even  more  collected  than  usual. 

“ Judith  !”  said  he,  “ the  final  moment  is  well  nigh  come. 
They  have  crossed  at  Kinnard,  and  driven  back  Colonel  O’Far- 
rel  from  the  defile  where  I had  placed  him.  They  are  rapidly 
approaching.” 

“ You  mean  to  wait  for  them,  then!” 

“ Assuredly  I do — my  position  here  is  well  worth  keeping — 
but— but — I came  to  say  farewell—  should  we  meet  no  more — 
God  in  heaven  protect  you  and  this  noble  damsel  who  hath  left 
her  own  to  cling  unto  us — once  more,  let  me  persuade  you  to 
remove  from  a place  so  fraught  with  danger — do,  for  God’s 
sake,  ere  yet  the  enemy  is  upon  us.” 

“I  have  told  you  I will  not  go,”  said  Judith  loftily,  “and 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


393 


Emmeline  is  resolved  as  I am.  Whither,  in  God’s  name,  should 
we  go — our  hopes  are  here,  and  here  our  safety  lies,  for  if,  which 
God  forfend ! Monroe  is  the  victor  to-day,  no  spot  on  Ulster 
ground  will  he  safe  for  us  henceforth.  A way,  then,  Owen ! 
away  to  your  post,  and  may  the  just  Lord  God  watch  over  your 
precious  life,  for  a day  of  carnage,  yea,  a bloody  day  is  before 
you, — howsoever  the  battle  goes,  the  slaughter  will  be  fearful — 
where  revenge  strikes  on  one  side,  and  fanatic  hatred  on  the 
other,  mercy  will  have  no  place.” 

“It  is  true,  Judith,  too  true,”  said  the  chieftain  sadly,  then 
turning  to  Angus  who  stood  near  leaning  against  a tree,  he  said 
earnestly,  “ Angus,  my  brave  lad,  I know  you  well.  I know 
you  will  guard  these  ladies  as  you  would  the  apple  of  your  eye. 
Hence  it  is  that  I leave  them  with  you.  But  mark  me ! — if  the 
battle  goes  against  us,  take  them  to  Charlemont  without  delay 
— wait  not  till  all  is  over,  for  then  it  will  be  too  late,  but  go 
before  your  retreat  is  cut  off.  Mark  my  words,  I say  again ! as 
you  shall  answer  it  to  me  at  the  last  great  day  !” 

“Never  fear,  General!  never  fear!”  said  Angus  with  emotion, 
“ but  before  you  go,  I would  ask  you  one  question.  Where 
have  you  placed  Sir  Phelim  V* 

“Yonder  on  the  right  wing — why  do  you  ask,  Angus'?” 

“ Oh,  nothing  in  life,  general,  only  that  I’d  wish  to  know.” 
Once  more  O’Neill  turned  to  the  fair  companions.  Emmeline 
was  pale  as  death,  and  trembled  in  every  limb  as  she  gave  him 
her  hand  at  parting,  but  on  Judith’s  noble  brow  there  was  no 
trace  of  fear ; no  dark  misgiving  smote  her  heart.  Her  usually 
pale  cheek  was  tinged  with  a roseate  hue,  and  her  dark  blue 
eyes  gleamed  through  their  long  lashes  like  the  sapphires  in  a 
royal  crown.  O’Neill  looked  at  her  and  his  heart-pulse  quick- 
ened. Like  the  genius  of  the  land  she  stood  in  that  hour,  beau- 
tiful and  stately,  bearing  on  her  features  the  imprint  of  sorrow 
and  suffering,  yet  radiant  with  the  light  of  hope  and  the  inner 
life  which  passes  show. 

“ Go  forth  to  conquer !”  said  the  lady  as  she  place?  her  hand 
on  the  chieftain’s  arm  ; “ son  of  Niall,  the  daughter  of  Cooey-na- 
gall  stakes  her  life  on  your  success.  Go  forth — and  the  God  of 
battles  be  your  aid,  and  Mary  the  Help  of  Christians !” 


394 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Strong  in  the  righteous  cause  for  which  he  fought,  strong  in 
the  encouragement  of  her  whom  he  regarded  as  in  some  sort 
inspired,  and  strong  above  all  in  the  might  of  Him  whose  cor- 
poral presence  was  within  him,  Owen  Roe  did  go  forth,  and 
mounting  his  war-steed,  reached  the  centre  division  of  his 
army  just  as  the  Scottish  columns  planted  their  standards  in 
the  plain  beneath.  O’Farrel’s  regiment,  somewhat  the  worse 
for  its  encounter  with  the  Scottish  vanguard,*  was  placed  in 
the  rear  with  the  reserved  corps , and  then  the  general,  with  his 
staff,  rode  along  the  line  amid  the  enthusiastic  cheers  of  the 
soldiers,  while 

The  generates  beating  on  many  a drum, 

and  the  pipes  strike  up  the  various  clan  tunes.  These  after  a 
few  bars  are  all  merged  in  the  noble  and  warlike  strain,  known 
then  as  Planxty  Sudley,f  the  grandest,  the  most  inspiriting  that 
ever  broke  on  warrior’s  ear.  And  the  hearts  of  the  bold  clans- 
men throbbed  high  with  joy  and  hope  as  they  listened,  and 
their  feet  beat  time  to  the  gladsome  strain,  and  the  very  horses 
pranced  and  danced  as  though  they,  too,  were  eager  for  the 
fray.  Oh  ! sight  of  joy  for  Erin,  who  would  not  wish  to  see  it ! 

“ When  hearts  are  all  high  beating, 

And  the  trumpet’s  voice  repeating 
That  song,  whose  breath 
May  lead  to  death, 

But  never  to  retreating. 

Oh  ! the  sight  entrancing, 


* “ As  they  (the  Scots)  advanced  they  were  met  by  Colonel  Rich 
ard  O’Farrel,  who  occupied  a narrow  defile  through  which  it  was 
necessary  for  the  Scotch  troops  to  pass  in  order  to  face  the  Irish. 
The  fire  of  Monroe’s  guns  compelled  O’Neill’s  officer  to  retire.” — 
Confederation , p.  149. 

t This  noble  war-tune  is  happily  preserved  to  us  by  the  artistic 
zeal  of  Si^John  Stephenson.  Through  the  delightful  medium  of 
Moore’s  vense,  it  is  known,  I hope,  to  many  of  my  readers  as  “ Oh  ! 
the  sight  entrancing  !”  I pity  the  Irish  heart  that  is  not  stirred  to 
its  depth  by  that  glorious  strain,  so  full  of  the  martial  fire  which  ran 
in  the  veins  of  our  Celtic  fathers. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


395 


When  morning’s  beam  is  glancing 
O’er  files  array’d 
With  helm  and  blade, 

And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing. 

“ Yet,  ’tis  not  helm  or  feather — 

For  ask  yon  despot,  whether 
His  plumed  bands 
Could  bring  such  hands 
And  hearts  as  ours  together. 

Leave  pomps  to  those  who  need  ’em — 

Give  man  but  heart  and  freedom, 

And  proud  he  braves 
The  gaudiest  slaves 
That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  ’em. 

The  sword  may  pierce  the  beaver, 

Stone  walls  in  time  may  sever, 

*Tis  mind  alone, 

Worth  steel  and  stone, 

That  keeps  men  free  for  ever.”$ 

Those  words  of  fire  were  as  yet  unbreathed,  but  their  spirit 
throbs  in  every  vein  of  those  saffron-coated  warriors  who  stand 
skilfully  ranged  in  order  of  battle  beneath  the  flags  of  the 
Ulster  chiefs — those  flags  which  at  dawn  canopied  the  sacred 
elements. 

As  Owen  O’Neill  rode  slowly  along  the  line,  he  was  joined  by 
Bishop  McMahon,  who  had  been  surveying  the  ground  and  the 
different  arrangements  with  the  eye  of  a veteran  soldier. 
“ Owen  !”  said  he,  “ our  position  here  is  every  way  admirable, 
but  how  shall  we  manage  the  sun  yonder,  shining  full  in  our 
eyes  %” 

“ I have  thought  of  that,  my  Lord,”  said  the  general  with  an 
anxious  glance  at  the  too  brilliant  luminary ; “ would  the  enemy 
but  keep  quiet  for  a few  hours  all  were  well,  but  an’  they  will 
attack  us,  we  must  e’en  keep  them  in  play  till  the  sun  begins  to 
descend.  How,  now,  Rory  V’ — he  was  passing  the  Fermanagh 
men  at  the  moment,  and  the  young  chief  stepped  forward,  indi- 
cating by  a sign  that  he  wished  to  speak. 

“ I fear  for  my  poor  uncle,”  said  Rory ; “he  hath  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  is  to  die  this  day,  but  not  till  he  hath  worked  out 


f Moore’s  Irish  Melodics. 


396 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


some  conceit  of  his  own,  the  which  I take  to  be  so  perilous  that 
it  may  well  end  as  he  forebodes.  Could  you  not  send  him  to 
keep  guard  in  the  wood  yonder '?” 

“ An’  he  did,  too,”  said  Lorcan  at  his  elbow,  “ I would  not  go. 
Others  can  keep  guard  in  the  wood  as  well  as  I,  and  I might 
thereby  lose  my  chance  of  revenge.  For  shame,  Rory ! plotting 
against  your  old  uncle !” 

“ But,  uncle,  you  do  not  know ” 

“ Lorcan  ! it  were  a post  of  honor,  an’  you  knew  but  all!” 

“ Small  thanks  to  either  of  you,”  said  the  old  man  snappishly ; 
“ I know  enough  to  take  care  of  my  own  honor — in  the  van  I’ll 
be,  I tell  you  that — it  wasn’t  to  hide  myself  in  the  wood  that  I 
got  the  sight  I did  this  morning !” 

“ Steady,  men,  steady !”  cried  Owen  O’Neill,  “ they  are  ad- 
vancing rapidly.  Keep  your  ground — obey  your  officers — they 
know  my  plans.” 

“ The  cavalry ! the  cavalry  !” — “ oh ! the  hell-hounds ! a warm 
welcome  to  them !” 

On  they  went,  Lord  Ardes  at  their  head,  their  terrible  clay- 
mores flashing  in  the  sun.  Heaven  help  the  Irish  kern,  with 
only  their  barradhs  and  glib-locks  to  protect  their  heads  ! Yet 
firm  as  a rock  they  stand  with  their  pikes  and  bayonets  firmly 
clasped,  prepared  to  resist  the  shock.  But  on  and  still  on  they 
come,  Monroe’s  bloody  troopers — hurrah ! mid-way  on  their 
course  they  are  greeted  by  a scathing  fire  from  the  bushes  on 
either  side — they  reel — they  attempt  to  rally — Lord  Ardes  waves 
his  sabre  and  urges  them  on — thick  and  fast  comes  the  deadly 
volley  from  the  brushwood — down  go  the  Scots  one  after  one, 
man  and  horse  rolling  over  down  the  hill-side — a panic  seized 
the  troopers,  and  their  officers  losing  all  command  of  them,  they 
hastily  made  their  retreat  to  the  sheltering  columns  of  the  army. 
Loud  and  long  was  the  laugh  that  pealed  after  them,  and  Owen 
Roe  riding  once  more  to  the  front,  cried  out  : 

“ Bravely  done,  my  faithful  Rapparees  ! I knew  it  was  in 
you'?” 

“ Methinks  Lord  Ardes  will  scarcely  try  it  again,  Owen,”  said 
Phelim  coming  forward  at  a gallop.  “ Who  may  we  thank  for 
that  V* 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


397 


“ Captain  Donogh  and  his  brave  comrades,”  said  Owen,  “ they 
are  the  boys  for  the  scrogs  and  bushes ! But  back — back, 
Phelim  ! as  I live  they’re  opening  a cannonade  ! — Heavens ! what 
a peal ! Spare,  oh,  Lord ! spare  our  brave  fellows ! Ha  ! Our 
Lady  shields  us  well !” 

Again  the  shout  of  mirthful  mockery  burst  from  the  Irish 
ranks  as  shot  after  shot  boomed  in  quick  succession  from  the 
enemy’s  guns  without  so  much  as  harming  a single  man.* 

“Oh!  the  darling  were  you,  Owen  Roe!”  “The  Lord  bo 
praised  ! isn’t  he  the  wonderful  man  !”  “ See  that,  now !” 

Amid  these  exulting  shouts  and  cries  of  admiration,  and  the 
dull  roar  of  the  heavy  cannonade,  a cry  of  anguish  was  heard  so 
loud  and  shrill  and  piercing  that  every  eye  was  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  altar  whence  the  sound  appeared  to  proceed. 
Few  could  see  what  was  going  on  there,  but  those  that  did  found 
it  hard  to  keep  their  places  in  the  ranks  in  obedience  to  the 
stern  voice  of  the  general  calling  out  at  the  moment : 

“ Stir  not  a man  of  you,  on  pain  of  death !” 

But  the  cry  went  round  “ Poor  Malachy  na  Soggarth  !”  and 
soon  it  reached  the  McMahons,  and  the  Bishop  himself  was 
quickly  on  his  knees  beside  the  bleeding  body  of  his  humble 
friend,  for  Malachy  indeed  it  was.  The  poor  fellow,  in  making 
some  new  arrangement  about  the  altar  preparatory  to  the  grand 
celebration  of  thanksgiving  to  which  he  looked  forward,  had  in- 
cautiously ascended  the  steps,  and,  thus  exposed,  became  a 
mark  for  some  deadly  shot,  the  Puritans,  doubtless,  taking  him 
for  a priest.  Fitting  death  surely  for  Malachy  na  Soggarth ! 

Judith  and  Emmeline  were  already  on  the  spot  supporting  the 
inanimate  form  between  them  and  endeavoring  to  stanch  the 
blood  that  flowed  profusely  from  the  breast. 

“ My  poor,  poor  Malachy !”  said  the  bishop  in  a choking 
voice  as  he  leaned  over  him ; “ is  there  life  in  him,  think  you'?” 
Laying  his  hand  on  the  poor  fellow’s  heart,  he  shook  his  head 

* Rinuccini  and  other  good  authorities  state  that  in  this  first  can- 
nonade of  the  Scotch  hut  one  man  of  the  Irish  was  slain,  owing  to 
the  admirable  disposition  of  the  army  by  the  skill  and  foresight  of 
Owen  Roe. 


398 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


mournfully — “ Alas  ! alas ! Malachy  !”  he  murmured  while  the 
tears  streamed  from  his  eyes,  “ it  will  never  beat  again ! God 
rest  your  soul  in  peace  ! Let  us  lay  him  here  on  the  steps,  my 
daughters  ! till  we  see  how  the  battle  goes ! Your  lives  are 
not  safe  here,  and  / must  away  where  duty  calls ” 

“ But  can  we  do  nothing  for  him,  my  lord?”  said  Judith  anx- 
iously. 

“Nothing,  nothing! — my  poor  Malachy  is  beyond  mortal 
succor !” 

“ For  Heaven’s  sake,  Judith  ! let  us  go !”  said  the  more  timid 
Emmeline,  shrinking  with  terror  as  a cannon-ball  raked  up  the 
ground  within  a few  feet  and  went  bounding  away  towards  the 
wood. 

“ She  is  right,”  said  the  bishop  ; “ haste  away,  I implore — I 
command  you  !” — and  then  tenderly  he  laid  the  body  of  his  late 
sacristan  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  altar,  saying : “ Rest  you 
there,  Malachy  ! till  I return,  if  return  I do  or  may.” 

By  this  time  Angus  and  some  others  of  the  Rapparees  were 
hurrying  the  ladies  back  to  the  wood,  and  seeing  Malacliy’s 
body  they  would  have  taken  it  too,  but  hearing  that  the  bishop 
had  placed  it  where  it  was,  they  reluctantly  left  it  behind. 

“ Poor  Malachy  na  Soggarth  ' are  you  the  first  ?”  sighed  An- 
gus; “ God  knows  who  will  be  the  last — you’ll  be  well  revenged, 
anyhow,  before  night !” 

Back  to  the  post  of  danger  flew  the  bishop,  and  he  found  the 
Clan  McMahon  busily  engaged  in  a skirmish  with  the  enemy 
whilst  Owen  Roe  himself  and  young  Rory  Maguire  were  charg- 
ing with  well-feigned  impetuosity  ; indeed  all  along  the  line  the 
Irish  forces  were  more  or  less  in  action,  now  advancing,  now  re- 
tiring, yet  still  maintaining  their  ground,  with  all  the  disadvan- 
tage of  a strong  sun  shining  full  in  their  faces,  and  the  wind 
blowing  the  smoke  of  the  Scottish  guns  right  against  them. 
Still  they  had  the  counter  advantage  of  position,  posted  as  they 
were  between  two  hills  with  the  wood  on  their  rear,  whereas 
the  Puritans  were  hemmed  in  between  the  river  and  a wide- 
spreading  bog.  Little  recked  they,  in  their  pride,  that  the  saf- 
fron-coated kern  held  the  hill-sides  above  them — were  they  not 
delivered  unto  them?  yea,  even  the  elements  lent  their  aid 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


399 


against  them,  and  the  snn  himself  struck  them,  as  it  were,  with 
blindness — verily,  God’s  judgments  were  upon  those  idolators, 
and  their  strength  must  wither  like  grass  before  the  wrathful 
eyes  of  the  elect. 

With  this  impression  on  their  minds,  the  Puritan  generals 
made  charge  after  charge  on  the  Iri  h columns,  now  with  horse, 
now  with  foot,  and  again  with  both.  Somehow,  “ the  idolaters” 
were  not  quite  so  easily  overcome,  as  they,  in  their  fanatical 
faith,  had  believed.  It  is  true  they  seemed  to  fight  rather  shy, 
as  though  fearing  to  come  in  too  close  Contact  with  the  swords 
of  the  righteous,  but  with  the  agility  of  mountain-goats  and  the 
cunning  of  foxes  they  managed  to  elude  the  furious  onslaught 
of  the  Puritans.  Truly  was  Owen  Roe  styled  the  Fabius  of  his 
country,  for  such  generalship  has  rarely  been  displayed  in  any 
age — such  consummate  skill  and  prudence,  as  the  field  of  Ben- 
burb  witnessed  that  day. 

It  was  a strange  and  a curious  sight  to  see  the  way  in  which 
Owen  kept  Monroe  and  his  legions  in  play  for  full  four  hours  on 
the  bright  June  day,  until  the  patience  of  his  own  people  was 
all  but  worn  out,  and  the  Scotch,  who  had  been  fighting  with 
all  their  might,  well  nigh  exhausted  and  frenzied  with  disap- 
pointment. 

Monroe’s  shrill  voice  was  heard  full  often  urging  on  his  offi- 
cers, and  O’Neill’s  made,  as  it  were,  a mocking  echo.  It  was 
“ Cunningham  forward  on  the  right” — “ McMahon  to  the  front’ !‘ 
— “ Hamilton  advance  !” — “ O’Rielly  forward  !” 

Much  grumbling  was  heard  amongst  the  O’Rourkes  on  find- 
ing that  the  O’Reillys,  not  they,  were  in  front  of  the  Hamiltons, 
and  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  could  hardly  restrain  his  indignation  that 
he  was  left  out  of  the  count  and  reduced  to  a state  of  inactivity, 
which  he  deemed  a grievous  wrong.  Owen  Roe  smiled  as  he 
heard  these  complaints,  and  told  them  all  to  have  patience. 
“ Wait  till  you  can  see  them,”  said  he,  “ and  then,  men  of  Erin, 
you  may,  perchance,  have  your  way !” 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  army  had  such  boundless  confidence 
in  the  wisdom  of  its  general,  for  there  lived  not  the  man  on  Irish 
ground,  save  Owen  himself,  that  could  have  kept  the  clans  back 
so  long,  and  to  rush  headlong  on  the  Scotch  with  the  dazzling 


400 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


sun  and  the  drifting  smoke  striking  full  upon  them,  would  have 
been  certain  destruction. 

Old  Lorcan  Maguire  was  on  thorns.  Although  perfectly  com- 
prehending the  cause  of  Owen’s  holding  back,  he  still  could  not 
restrain  his  impatience,  and  many  an  angry  glance  he  gave 
through  his  closed  eyelids  at  the  provokingly  bright  sun  that 
would  not  let  him  see  what  most  he  wished  to  see. 

“ Rory  !”  said  he  at  last  to  his  nephew, “ your  eyes  are  young- 
er and  stronger  than  mine — can  you  tell  me  whereabouts  Blay- 
ney  is — they  say  he’s  with  the  cavalry.” 

“ Why,  to  be  sure,  uncle  ! there  he  is  with  his  troop  on  the 
left  flank  close  by  Hamilton’s  dragoons.  I have  my  eye  on  him 
never  fear !”  . 

“That’s  well,  my  boy,  that’s  well — God  bless  you,  Rory!” 
A ball  whizzed  past  the  old  man’s  ear  at  the  moment,  but  so 
wrapped  was  he  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he  heeded  it  not,  al- 
though it  drew  from  his  nephew  an  exclamation  of  alarm.  A 
very  short  time  after  that  a stir  was  perceptible  amongst  the 
Irish.  The  sun  was,  at  length,  behind  them,  and  the  wind  sud- 
denly changing,  the  smoke  of  all  the  artillery  was  blown  in  the 
faces  of  the  Scotch,  stunning  them  with  the  effect  of  a hard 
blow.  * 

By  some  rapid  evolutions,  made  at  the  moment,  by  the  or- 
ders of  Owen  Roe,  Hamilton  of  Leitrim  found  himself  faced  by 
his  neighbors,  the  O’Rourkes,  amongst  whom  were  conspicuous 
the  square-built,  athletic  figure  of  Manus,  and  the  stately  form 
of  his  chief.  Blayney  was  likewise  confronted  by  his  old  ac- 
quaintances, the  McMahons  of  Uriel,  headed  by  their  own  chief, 
whilst  Sir  Robert  Stewart  and  his  bloody  troopers  stood  face  to 
face  with  the  stern  O’Cahans  of  the  mountains.  All  these 
changes  were  effected  with  the  quickness  almost  of  thought,  and 
then  Owen  Roe,  surveying  with  that  piercing  eye  of  his  the  con- 
fusion prevailing  amongst  the  Scotch,  cast  another  glance  along 
his  own  line  to  see  that  all  was  to  his  liking.  He  smiled  and 
murmured  softly  to  himself : “ Now  may  Christ  and  His  Blessed 
Mother  be  our  stay  !”  • 

Ay ! the  moment  is  come  at  last — the  Scotch  are  confused  and 
bewildered — they  cannot  fight,  it  would  seem,  as  the  Irish  did, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


401 


through  sun  and  smoke — their  generals  see  the  danger — they 
see  the  ominous  movements  going  on  amongst  the  Confederates 
— they  use  every  effort  to  restore  order  in  their  own  ranks,  and 
in  part  they  succeed.  With  oaths  and  curses  Hamilton  forces 
his  men  into  line — Monroe  conjures — commands  his  stern  Scot- 
tish veterans  to  stand  fast  for  the  dear  sake  of  the  Covenant,  and 
smite  the  reprobate  with  the  strong  arm  of  righteousness. 

But  the  Irish — how  eagerly  they  watch  their  General’s  eye- 
how  bitterly  they  laugh  as  the  blasphemous’  exhortations  of  the 
Scottish  generals  reach  their  ears. 

“ A hundred  years  of  wrong  shall  make  their  vengeance  strong ! 

A hundred  years  of  outrage,  and  blasphemy,  and  broil ; 

Since  the  spirit  of  Unrest  sent  forth  on  her  behest 

The  Apostate  and  the  Puritan,  to  do  their  work  of  spoil.”* 

By  a sudden  impulse,  as  it  were,  Owen  Roe  threw  himself 
into  the  midst  of  his  army,  and  pointing  to  the  enemy,  he  cried : 

“ Soldiers  ! you  have  your  way  ! — They  have  sun  and  wind 
against  them  now  as  we  had  before.  They  waver  already, 
though  Monroe  is  trying  to  rally  for  another  charge.  Strike 
home  now  for  God  and  Country, — for  martyred  priests  and 
slaughtered  .kin — for  your  women’s  nameless  wrongs — the  Ham- 
iltons  are  there — remember  Tiernan  O’Rourke  and  the  sacred 
martyr  of  Sligo — remember  all — all , my  brothers — remember 
all  the  past — Lhink  of  the  future  that  awaits  your  country  if  you 
are  beaten  here  to-day — but  beaten  you  cannot  be — you  have 
purified  your  souls  in  the  laver  of  penance,  you  have  received 
the  blessing  sent  you  from  the  vicegerent  of  Christ — you  are 
strong — your  cause  is  holy — you  must  and  shall  conquer.  On, 
then,  on,  to  death  or  victory  ! I myself  will  lead  the  way,  and 
let  him  that  fails  to  follow  remember  that  he  abandons  his 
general !” 

“ Cursed  be  he  who  does !”  cried  Sir  Phelim  ; “ I’ll  take  care 
it  shan’t  be  me  !” 

He  threw  himself  from  Brien’s  back  as  he  spoke,  and  flung 
the  bridle  to  Shamus,  who  was  close  by  his  side.  Every  colonel 
of  the  army  instantly  followed  his  example  amid  the  applauding 

* Hon.  G.  S.  Smythe’s  Catholic  Cavalier. 


402 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


cheers  of  the  men,  and  then  waving  their  broadswords  on  high, 
down  they  dashed  on  the  astonished  Puritans,  their  men  hound- 
ing after  and  around  them,  with  the  terrible  force  of  the  cataract. 
Once  more  the  cry  of  “ Lamb  dearg  aboo !”  awoke  the  echoes 
of  the  woods,  striking  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  murderous 
crew  who  had  so  long  revelled  in  the  blood  of  the  Irish.  In  vain 
did  Monroe,  seeing  the  approaching  avalanche,  order  Lord  Ardes, 
with  a squadron  of  horse,  to  clear  a way  through  the  Irish  foot ; 
in  vain — in  vain — his  cavalry  met  the  rushing  war-ade,  and  the 
pikes  of  the  kern,  piercing  the  breasts  of  the  horses,  drove 
them  back,  maddened  and  affrighted,  on  the  ranks  of  their  own 
infantry  whose  bayonets  met  them  in  the  rear.  Death ! death ! 
death  and  fury  ! where  is  that  haughty  squadron  now  1 Annihi- 
lated, save  a few  officers  who  were  taken  prisoners,  Lord  Ardes 
himself  amongst  the  number.  Now  Hamilton  and  Blayney — 
Stewart  and  Montgomery  look  to  it — look  to  the  doom  that  is 
on  you  ! Strong,  fierce  and  powerful  this  day  are  those  whom 
so  long  you  have  hunted  as  beasts — the  O’Rourkes  are  in  your 
midst  with  their  terrible  pikes  and  battle-axes — the  McGuires 
and  McMahons  are  flaying  you  down  as  though  each  had  the 
strength  of  an  hundred  men — the  O’Cahans  are  drunk  with  joy 
as  Stewart’s  men  go  down  in  heaps  beneath  their  crushing  blows, 
and  the  wild  aboo  is  ringing  high  over  all  the  sounds  of  fight,  as 
the  clansmen  follow  their  valiant  chiefs  on  and  on  through  the 
dread  array,  shouting  as  they  go  the  words  of  doom.  Oh ! the 
might  that  was  in  Owen’s  arm  a^,  first  of  all,  he  clove  his  way  to 
the  heart  of  the  Scottish  host,  hi3  plume  of  green  and  white 
passing  on  like  a meteor  through  the  battle-cloud.  And  close 
behind  him  followed  Sir  Pbelim,  dealing  death  on  every  side 
and  smiling  grimly  at  the  dull  inertness  of  the  Scotch,  for  it 
seemed  as  though  a spell  had  fallen  on  them  all  and  the  strength 
had  left  their  arms.  Here  and  there,  however,  the  generals 
were  making  an  effort  to  rally  them,  reminding  them  that  retreat 
was  death.  Once  the  savage  Hamilton  encountered  the  knight 
of  Kinnard,  and  leaning  forward  in  his  saddle  aimed  such  a 
deadly  thrust  at  his  heart  that  stout  Phelim's  life  were  not  worth 
a straw,  had  not  a pike  at  the  moment  pierced  Hamiltons’s  horse 
through  the  head,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  with  his  rider  under. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


403 


It  was  the  faithful  Shamus  who  had  dealt  the  blow  that  saved 
his  chieftain’s  life,  but  he  well  nigh  paid  the  penalty  of  his  own, 
for  some  three  or  four  of  Hamilton’s  men,  believing  their  leader 
slain,  attacked  the  brave  fellow  with  their  ponderous  axes. 

“ Come  on,  you  hell-hounds ! I’m  ready  for  you !”  cried  Sha- 
mus  with  a flourish  of  his  trusty  pike,  while  Sir  Phelim,  turning 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  clove  the  foremost  of  his  assailants 
well  nigh  to  thebelt.  Alas ! the  tide  of  battle  rushing  on,  speed- 
ily carried  away  the  knight,  and  left  Shamus  still  wedged  in 
with  the  wrathful  followers  of  Hamilton.  Forgotten  as  he 
thought  himself  by  his  friends,  O’Hagan  faced  his  enemies  with 
the  courage  of  a lion,  and  two  of  them  fell  beneath  his  stalwart 
arm,  but  the  third,  a gigantic  fellow,  maddened  by  the  fate  of 
his  comrades,  grasped  his  weapon  with  both  hands  and  aimed 
such  a blow  at  his  opponent’s  head  as  would  have  shattered  a 
bar  of  iroD.  Great  God ! what  means  that  piercing  scream ! 
Who  is  it  that  rushes  between,  receives  the  impending  stroke, 
and  saves  the  life  of  Shamus  1 It  is  Angus  Dhu  whom  Shamus 
catches  in  his  arms  with  a cry  of  anguish,  and  forgetful  of  his 
own  danger,  of  all  save  the  friend  who  has  given  his  life  for  him, 
he  makes  his  way  with  maniac  force  through  the  thick  of  the 
fight,  brandishing  his  bloody  pike  in  one  hand,  while  the  other 
arm  clasps  to  his  breast  the  bleeding  form  of  the  gallant  young 
Rapparee  to  all  appearance  dead.  By  the  time  he  laid  his 
sorrowful  burden  on  the  sward  beside  the  altar,  the  gay  green 
jacket,  ever  worn  so  jauntily,  was  wet  with  the  life-blood  from 
the  faithful  heart,  yet  the  youth  opened  his  eyes  for  a moment, 
and  smiled  as  he  saw  Shamus.  He  murmured  faintly : 

“ Aileen  has  got  the  ring,  Shamus ! — the  Lady  Judith  will 
find  it— next  the  heart — that  loved  you  best — she  will  tell  you 
— all ” 

“ Judith  is  here,”  said  a soft  voice  close  at  hand.  “ But,  mer- 
ciful God!  Angus — Aileen,  my  child!  is  it  you 'l  Oh,  woe!  woe ! 
was  it  for  this  you  left  me  1” 

“ What  else  would  take  me — dearest  lady  ! — but  to  watch — 
over  Shamus  1 I know  it  was  wrong — to  leave  my  post — ask 
the  general’s  pardon  for  me — he’ll  not  refuse  it  to  you.  Shamus ! 
poor  Shamus ! don’t  look  so  wild — be  pacified— I couldn’t  live 


404 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


forever,  and  what  death  could  be  more  welcome  to  me  than 
this  ? We’ll  meet  again — maybe  soon — I’d  wish  to  see  Phelim 
— but  there’s  no  time — bid  him  farewell  for  me,  and  tell  him  I 
have  done  my  share — in  revenging — Island  Magee  ! Pray — 
pray  for  poor  Aileen — Lord  Jesus ! have  mercy — mercy ! Mary, 
Mother  of  Christians ! — help  me  now — now ” 

“ Aileen ! Aileen !”  shouted  Sliamus,  and  he  snatched  the 
dying  girl  to  his  breast  again — “ Aileen ! sure  it  isn’t  dying  you’d 
be  7 — sure  you  wouldn’t  leave  me  after  all  thisl”  A bright 
smile  beamed  again  on  the  pallid  face,  and  there  it  rested — 
Aileen  was  with  the  dead ! 

It  was  hard  to  convince  * Shamus  that  all  was  over,  but  when 
once  he  was  convinced,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  imprinting  a 
long  kiss  on  the  pale  lips  of  his  betrothed,  he  placed  her  gently 
in  the  arms  of  Emmeline  who  sat  weeping  by  whilst  Judith 
knelt  to  offer  up  a prayer  for  the  departed  spirit. 

“ I’ll  leave  her  here,”  said  he,  “ for  a start  till  I go  back  to 
my  work.  My  work!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ay!  my  work!  We  must 
make  an  end  of  it  this  day,  anyhow ! Oh  ! ladies  ! dear  ladies ! 
look  at  her — wasn’t  she  the  beauty!  But  oh!  oh!  the  trick 
she  played  on  me ! And  she  telling  me  that  time  when  Phelim 
and  me  went  to  see  her  that  I was  never, .never  to  go  back 
next  or  nigh  her — either  me  or  Phelim — till  the  war  would  be 
over  and  the  country  free,  and  the  Scotch  murderers  clean 
gone! — oh  Aileen!  Aileen!  But  what  am  I standing  here  for 
when  there’s  such  good  work  to  be  done  ! Now  God  direct  me 
to  Sir  Phelim !” 

Away  he  darted  with  the  speed  of  a lap- wing,  nor  stopped  till 
he  made  his  way  again  to  the  side  of  his  chief,  thanking  God 
that  he,  at  least,  was  still  spared. 

Just  then  old  Lorcan  Maguire  was  carried  by  bleeding  pro- 
fusely from  a wound  in  the  chest.  The  brave  old  man  was  near 
his  last,  yet  he  caught  Sir  Phelim’s  eye  for  a moment,  and  he 
smiled  a grim  smile. 

“I’m  done  for,  Phelim!”  he  hoarsely  articulated,  “but  so  is 
he  too ! The  villain  that  swore  Connor’s  life  away ! I swore  to 
do  it  this  day,  and  I’ve  kept  my  word ! God  have  mercy  on 
my  soul !”  The  seer  of  Fermanagh  spoke  never  more. 


• THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


405 


It  was  true  enough  foi  Lorcan.  Blayney  was  found  amongst 
the  slain.  His  fall  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  Scotch, 
but  their  misfortunes  were  not  at  the  height.  All  that  dreadful 
evening  the  work  of  death  went  on — the  fanatics  falling  every- 
where like  grass  benea'h  the  scythe  of  the  mower.  Many  hun- 
dreds had  already  perished,  when  the  Rapparees,  breaking  from 
the  bushes  and  thickets  around,  rushed  into  the  contest  fresh 
and  vigorous  with  the  terrible  cry  : 

“ Island  Magee — Death  to  the  bloody  Scots !” 

Like  a fiery  torrent  on  they  passed,  young  Donogh  at  their 
head  looking  like  one  of  the  athletes  of  old,  his  slight  figure 
dilated,  it  would  seem,  beyond  its  wonted  proportions,  his  arm 
endowed  with  giant  strength  by  the  mightiness  of  his  wrongs, 
though  he  knew  not  then  that  the  last  of  his  race  had  fallen 
beneath  a Scottish  axe  but  a little  while  before. 

It  was  the  day  of  awful  retribution:  The  opportunity  so  long 
promised  to  the  outraged  clans  of  Ulster,  and  good  use  they 
made  of  it.  The  might  of  the  oppressor  was  withered  as  grass, 
and  the  stoutest  soldiers  of  the  Covenant  went  down  before  the 
fiery  clansmen  of  the  north,  and  the  legions  of  the  tyrant  were 
swept  away  like  dry  stubble  in  the  flame,  until  the  terrified- sur- 
vivors, as  evening  drew  on,  finding  no  other  retreat  open  to 
them,  began  to  precipitate  themselves  into  the  river,  where 
many  hundreds  perished.*  Monroe  did  not  wait  to  see  the  end 
of  it.’  He  made  his  escape  from  that  scene  of  carnage  long  be- 
fore the  set  of  sun,  nor  drew  bridle,  as  was  afterwards  found, 
till  he  gained  the  protecting  walls  of  Lisnagarvey — a feat  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  man’s  character. 

The  strangest  thing  of  all  was  that  but  seventy  of  the  Irish 
were  slain  in  that  battle,  whilst  two  thousand  three  hundred  of 
the  enemy  were  found  dead  on  the  field,  exclusive  of  those  who 
found  a grave  in  the  Blackwater. 

* Protestant  and  Catholic  historians  all  agree  that  the  Battle  of 
Benburb  was  one  of  the  most  tremendous  victories  ever  gained  by 
Irish  valor.  The  admirable  prudence  and  military  skill  displayed 
by  Owen  O’Neill  are  loudly  extolled  even  by  such  writers  as  War- 
ner, Wright,  Leland,  &c. 


406 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Of  the  chiefs  and  gentlemen  of  Ulster,  not  one  fell  that  day 
save  Lorcan  Maguire.  Some  were  wounded  but  not  dangerously. 
When  the  drums  sounded  the  recall,  and  all  came  together  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar,  by  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  how  warm- 
ly did  each  press  the  other’s  hand,  how  fervently  thank  God. 
Bishop  McMahon  and  the  priests  intoned  a solemn  thanksgiving, 
and  recited  the  De  Profundis  for  those  who  had  fallen.  Then 
Owen  Roe  demanded  of  his  officers  what  prisoners  they  had 
taken,  and  first  of  all  addressed  Sir  Phelim. 

“ Prisoners !”  said  the  stalwart  knight  disdainfully,  “ prisoners, 
Owen ! by  my  word,  I have  not  one — my  object  was  to  kill 
what  I could !” 

“I  have  a prisoner!”  said  Donogh  coming  forward  with  a 
bob-wig  on  the  end  of  his  pike,  and  a war-cloak  carelessly  over 
his  arm ; “ Monroe  left  us  these  as  love-tokens.” 

A roar  of  laughter  greeted  the  trophies,  indicative,  as  they 
wrere,  of  the  haste  wherewith  the  owner  had  decamped.  But 
the  wig  and  cloak  were  not  the  only  trophies  of  the  victory. 
All  the  baggage,  artillery,  and  ammunition  of  the  Scotch  was 
taken,  and,  likewise,  all  their  banners.  These,  with  twenty-one 
officers,. remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Irish,  and  it  is  graphically 
said  by  some  of  our  historians  that  so  great  was  the  amount  of 
booty  taken,  that  “ even  the  meanest  soldier  was  weary  with 
plunder.”  Other  matters  connected  with  this  splendid  victory 
will  be  found  in  our  next  chapter. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


407 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

“ Hide  not  thy  tears  ; weep  boldly — and  be  proud 
To  give  the  flowing  virtue  manly  way  ; 

’Tis  nature’s  mark  to  know  an  honest  heart  by, 

Shame  on  those  breasts  of  stone  that  cannot  melt 
In  soft  adoption  of  another’s  sorrow  !” 

Aaron  Hill. 

“ When  love’s  well-timed,  ’tis  not  a fault  to  love  : • 

The  strong,  the  brave,  the  virtuous,  and  the  wise, 

Sink  in  the  soft  captivity  together.” 

Addison’s  Cato. 

The  bonfire  that  blazed  that  night  on  the  hill  of  Benburb  sent 
a thrill  of  delight  through  the  heart  of  old  Ulster.  Its  meaning 
was  well  understood,  for  in  rapid  succession  every  mountain-top 
sent  up  its  pillar  of  fire  shaming  the  brightness  of  the  summer 
moon.  The  joyous  acclamations  of  the  multitudes  reached  not 
the  ears  of  the  victorious  chieftains  by  the  Blackwater,  but  they 
watched,  nevertheless,  with  swelling  hearts,  the  beacon-fires 
that  were  proclaiming  to  a grateful  people  the  news  of  their 
triumph.  They  knew  that  prayers  were  going  up  for  them  from 
ten  thousand  happy  hearts,  and  that  hi  Is  and  vales  were  ringing 
with  the  joyful  sounds : 

“ Owen  Roe  has  beaten  the  Scotch !” 

Oh  ! it  was  a joyous  night,  a glorious  night  for  the  Catholic 
people  of  Ulster ; and  they  basked  in  the  brightness  of  the  mo- 
ment without  thinking  of  the  clouds  that  might  yet  darken  the 
horizon.  Owen  Roe  himself  as  he  stood  with  Bishop  McMahon, 
Sir  Phelim  and  others  of  the  chiefs,  looking  abroad  over  the 
rejoicing  land,  could  not  help  catching  the  enthusiasm  of  all 
around,  and  his  bosom  throbbed  with  the  buoyancy  of  early 
youth  as,  turning  to  the  Bishop,  he  said  : 

“ Truly  we  have  cause  for  rejoicing — blessed  be  His  name 
who  hath  done  such  great  things  for  us ! Have  I not  redeemed 
my  word,  oh  ! friends  and  brothers — said  I not  well  that  we  should 
have  a day  of  reckoning  I” 


408 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


“By  the  soul  of  Nial ! Owen,”  said  Phelim  with  a vigorous 
grasp  of  the  hand,  “ you  have  made  clean  work  of  it ! A few 
such  days  as  this  would  leave  Ireland  in  our  own  hands  mayhap 
for  eyer ! If  that  rascally  crew  in  the  Pale  above  would  only 
put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel  as  we  do,  we  would  soon  send 
the  robbers  packing — that  is,  if  any  were  left  to  pack  !” 

“ I hope  McMahon  and  O’Rourke  are  pleased  now,”  said 
Owen  again,  as  he  turned  to  the  chieftains  named,  “and  my 
young  friend  Roderick — but  where  is  Roderick  7 — I trust  no 
harm  hath  come  unto  him  !” 

“ Not  so,  general,”  said  Bishop  Heber,  “ not  so — thank  God  ! 
the  young  chief  is  well  in  body,  but  grievously  troubled  in  mind 
for  the  loss  of  his  good  old  uncle ” 

“ What ! is  Lorcan  slain  ?” 

“ Ay,  marry  is  he — methought  you  knew  how  he  sought 
Blayney  out  and  struck  him  down  in  the  midst  of  his  troopers, 
then  sold  his  life  as  dearly  as  he  could — alas ! poor  Lorcan  ! — 
the  hero  of  many  a field — he  hath  gone  to  the  company  of  his 
friends  ‘ the  spirits  !’  And  my  poor  Malachy — ah  ! Owen,  my 
heart  is  sore  for  that  queer,  quaint,  simple,  and  most  faithful 
follower  whose  oddity  diverted  me  full  oft  from  grave  and  pain- 
ful thoughts  ! May  he  rest  in  peace,  0 Lord.” 

“ Who  else  hath  fallen  7"  said  Owen  with  emotion.  He 
started  on  hearing  the  name  of  Angus  Dhu.  So,  too,  did 
Phelim. 

“ Angus  Dhu !”  repeated  Owen  in  a faltering  voice,  “ it 
cannot  be — I left  him  on  guard  in  the  wood  with  a small  party 
of  his  comrades — could  he  have  betrayed  his  trust  7 — no,  no,  I 
will  not  believe  it !” 

“ It  is  true,  nevertheless,”  said  the  trembling  voice  of  Father 
Phelimy  from  behind  ; “ it  is  true,  but  blame  not  the  youth  till 
you  have  heard  all !” 

“ Good  God  ! father,  and  how  fares  it  with — our  friends  1” 
cried  Owen  in  an  agitated  voice. 

“ They  are  well,  I thank  my  God,  but  much  occupied  in 
caring  the  wounded.” 

“ Lead  me  to  them,  reverend  father ! I pray  you !”  said 
Owen  in  a low  voice,  and  they  turned  away  together.  No  smile 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


409 


was  on  tlie  face  of  any  left  behind — not  even  Sir  Phelim  ven- 
tured on  a jest,  though  all  knew  well  who  were  the  general’s 
“friends.”  The  exalted  character  of  the  Lady  Judith  and  the 
immensity  of  Emmeline’s  sorrows  placed  them  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  mockery  or  derision,  and,  moreover,  the  chieftains  of 
Owen  Roe’s  army  looked  upon  both  as  the  special  objects  of 
their  protection. 

An  hour  later  and 

“ The  mess-tents  are  Full,  and  the  glasses  are  set,” 

and  the  chieftains  and  the  officers  all  await  the  coming  of  Owen 
Roe  to  commence  the  banquet,  but  Owen  Roe  cared  little  for 
festivity;  he  still  lingered  in  the  sylvan  hospital  where  Judith 
and  the  priests  were  in  attendance  on  the  wounded.  In  many 
cases  the  general  himself  assisted  the  doctors  to  dress  and  bind 
up  the  wounds  of  the  sufferers,  and  the  fervent  blessings  which 
greeted  him  on  every  side  in  that  abode  of  pain  were  dearer  to 
his  heart  than  the  enthusiastic  cheers  of  his  army. 

It  was  there  lie  found  the  young  chieftain  of  Fermanagh  with 
some  gentlemen  of  his  own  blood,  kneeling  beside  the  corpse  of 
p'oor  Lorcan  where  it  lay  with  a war  cloak  thrown  over  it  in 
the  shade  of  a spreading  sycamore.  At  the  opposite  side  was  a 
slight  female  figure  crouched  on  the  ground,  and  wrapped  in  a 
dark  mantle.  It  was  easy  to  guess  that  this  was  Emmeline, 
whose  absence  from  Judith's  company  Owen  had  noticed.  She 
looked  up  for  a moment  from  under  her  hood  and  met  the 
general’s  eye.  A slight  flush  suffused  her  cheek,  and  she 
murmured  in  tremulous  accents : 

“ He  is  dead — Connor’s  uncle  is  dead — he  who  was  so  long 
my  protector  and  companion  in  danger — he  was  more  a father 
to  me  than  he  who  bore  that  name — he  is  dead,  dead — and  I am 
desolate!”  She  covered  her  face  again. 

“ It  is  even  so,  general !”  said  Roderick  rising  from  his  knees 5 
“ Lorcan  Maguire  is  no  more — look  there !”— and  raising  the 
cloak  which  covered  the  body  he  showed  the  face  of  the  stern 
old  warrior,  noble  even  in  the  fixed  repose  of  death.  “ Ay ! 
you  may  wail  him,  too,  Owen  O’Neil ! for  no  truer  heart  followed 
your  standard — wo ! wo  ! for  the  sons  of  the  waters ! — heavy 
18 


410 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


will  their  hearts  be,  brother  of  my  father ! and  loud  the  wail  of 
our  women  when  Lorcan  is  borne  home  to  them  thus  from  this 
field  of  blood !” 

Owen  said  not  a word,  but  he  took  the  chieftain’s  hand  in 
silence,  and  he  pressed  it  between  his  own,  while  the  tears  that 
moistened  his  eye-lid  showed  the  strength  of  his  emotion. 
Turning,  he  ga-zed  a moment  on  the  venerable  face  of  the  dead, 
then  knelt  and  bowed  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  thus  remained 
for  several  minutes  in  earnest  supplication  for  the  repose  of 
that  guileless  soul. 

Passing  on  a little  farther,  the  general  found  a numerous 
party  of  the  McMahons  keeping  watch  around  the  body  of  poor 
Malachy.  It  lay  on  the  velvet  sward  in  front  of  the  altar  which 
his  hands  had  raised,  with  the  cold  pale  moonlight  streaming 
down  on  the  stony  features.  Bishop  Heber  knelt  beside  the 
mortal  remains  of  his  humble  friend,  and  the  chieftain  stood 
leaning  against  the  end  of  the  altar  with  folded  arms  and  a 
moody  brow  looking  down  on  the  ghastly  shell  that  had  en- 
closed so  pure  a spirit,  so  loving  a heart.  Ow§n  Roe  knelt  to 
say  a short  prayer  for  the  dead,  and  the  sight  of  him  there 
drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  Art  Oge,  for  he  thought  how  proud 
poor  simple  Malachy  would  be  were  he  conscious  of  the  honor 
done  him  by  “ the  general.”  And  the  clansmen  who  sat  or 
knelt  in  silence  around,  felt  their  bosoms  glow  and  their  hearts 
throb  with  renewed  affection  for  that  chosen  leader.  He  tar- 
ried but  a moment  amongst,  them,  however,  for  his  mind  was 
full  of  troubled  thought,  and  his  heart  impelled  him  onward  to 
the  place  where,  like  a ministering  angel,  the  lady  Judith  was 
bending  over  a wounded  soldier,  whose  tartan  pointed  him  out 
as  a McDonnell  from  the  Glynns. 

Owen  O’Neill  spoke  not,  but  he  stood  a moment  looking  on 
the  beautiful  picture  of  Christian  charity  and  his  shadow  falling 
over  the  wounded,  and  (as  it  appeared')  dying  man,  Judith  was 
made  aware  of  his  presence.  She  looked  up  with  a sad  smile, 
and  said  almost  in  a whisper : 

“ He  is  passing  away,  I fear — Father  Eugene  administered  to 
him  a little  while  ago.  Ah ! my  friend ! such  is  the  price  of 
victory !” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


411 


“God  help  us  all,  so  it  is! — but,  Judith,  can  I have  speech 
of  you  a moment  1” 

One  of  the  doctor’s  attendants  came  up  just  then,  and  Juditb, 
giving  the  man  in  charge  to  him,  walked  on  by  the  general’s 
side.  They  were  still  in  sight  of  all,  but  not  in  hearing,  when 
O’Neill  stopped  and  so  did  the  lady,  and  their  eyes  met.  A 
glow  was  on  the  cheek  of  each,  but  it  was  the 'glow  of  enthu- 
siasm and  not  of  passion. 

“ Judith !”  said  Owen  Roe,  “ are  you  so  far  content!” 

“ How  could  I be  otherwise  ! Heaven  be  praised ! you  have 
done  marvellously  well.  An’  this  day’s  work  be  followed  up  as 
it  ought  to  be,  the  Puritans  will  speedily  betake  themselves 
whence  they  came,  to  avoid  utter  annihilation.  Then,  Owen,” — 
she  stopped  as  if  overcome  by  the  strength  of  her  own  vivid  ima- 
ginings. Her  dark  thoughtful  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears, 
but  they  were  tears  of  joy  and  fervent  hope. 

“And  then!” — O’Neill  repeated  in  a tone  of  eager  expect- 
ation all  unusual  with  him. 

“ Why,  need  I tell  you  what  will  follow! — surely,  Owen  Roe 
can  well  picture  to  himself  the  joy,  the  peace,  the  happiness  of 
a people  ransomed  from  slavery — the  glory  that  will  shine  on 
our  ancient  hills  when  the  Lord  of  Hosts  manifests  His  power 
on  behalf  of  His  so-long  afflicted  people,  and  the  pride  of  the 
tyrant  will  be  humbled — yea  for  ever!” — she  fixed  her  gaze 
on  the  starry  firmament  where  the  queen  of  night  was  shining 
in  lonely  splendor,  and  a dreamy,  yet  tender  look  stole  over 
her  noble  features — “ yea  for  ever — for  ever,”  she  slowly  ejacu- 
lated; “ no  more  such  pitiful  murders — no  more  such  sights  as 
I have  seen — and  this  will  you  do,  Owen  O’Neill — you  yourself,” 
she  added  with  sudden  animation,  turning  her  kindling  eye  on 
the  chieftain.  “ Who  but  you  is  in  all  things  fitted  for  so  great 
a work !” 

“ Your  commendation  is  sweet  to  mine  ear,”  said  Owen,  “ ay, 
truly,  and  balm  to  my  heart — but,  Judith,  sister,  friend,  coun- 
sellor ! you  have  given  me  leave  to  hope  that  a yet  closer  tie 
may  one  day  bind  us  to  each  other.  When  will  the  day  come  !” 

“ When  the  last  link  is  broken  of  Ireland’s  galling  chain,” 
Judith  promptly  replied  “when  the  dark  valley  of  blood  and 


412 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


death  is^passed,  and  the  halcyon  settles  down  on  the  storm-tossed 
waters, — when  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Ireland  are  free  to 
worship  God  in  open  day  without  let  or  hindrance,  then,  Owen 
O’Neill ! my  hand  shall  go  with  my  heart  to  him  whose  plume 
waved  the  highest,  whose  arm  struck  the  heaviest  in  this  day’s 
fight — to  him  v^hose  matchless  skill  and  wisdom  have  brought 
about,  under  God,  this  glorious  result — the  precursor,  I trust  in 
Heaven’s  mercy  ! of  yet  greater  things  to  come.” 

Owen  O’Neill  was  no  passionate  lover, — neither  was  Judith 
O’Cahan  the  woman  to  inspire  or  to  feel  what  is  commonly  called 
love — no,  the  heart  of  each  was  engrossed  by  higher  and  holier 
aspirations  than  any  purely  selfish  feeling  could  ever  elicit — they 
were  both  chastened  and  refined  by  the  pure  flame  of  patriotism 
commingled  with  religion — yet  was  there  in  the  depth  of  either 
heart  an  enthusiastic  appreciation  of  the  other,  and  a sympathy 
had  from  the  first  existed  between  them  more  strong  and  endur- 
ing than  mere  love  could  ever  be.  The  esteem  and  approbation 
of  Judith  were  amongst  the  strongest  inducements  which  Owen 
had  in  view,  as  the  lofty  enthusiasm  of  her  character  and  the 
womanly  grace  and  delicacy  of  her  demeanor  threw  a charm 
around  the  brief  moments  of  their  intercourse  and  diffused  a 
halo  of  poetic  light  over  the  dreary  toils  of  warfare.  Few  wrere 
the  souls  with  which  Owen  O’Neill  held  communion,  and  of  those 
few  Judith  O’Cahan’s  was  the  first.  The  effect  of  such  words  as 
she  had  just  spoken,  then,  may  well  be  imagined. 

He  took  the  hand  which  she  held  out  to  him,  and  held  it  fast, 
and  he  looked  long  and  earnestly  on  the  faded  but  still  beau- 
tiful face  of  his  betrothed,  and  he  read  as  in  a book  through 
the  soft  clear  eyes,  the  loving  and  gentle,  yet  high  and  holy 
thoughts  that  were  passing  within.  He  felt  that  as  far  as 
Judith’s  heart  was  accessible  to  human  love  it  was  his,  and  he 
asked  no  more.  He  was  well  content  that  God  should  hold  the 
first  place  in  the  heart  of  that  perfect  creature  of  His  hands. 

“Judith!”  he  said  still  holding  her  hand  between  his  own, 
“ Judith  ! I am  content  to  wait  until  the  work  of  redemption 
be  accomplished — like  you  I feel  that  the  present  is  not  the 
time  for  .selfish  enjoyment — no,  no,  we  could  not  be  happy 
even  in  each  other,  whilst  our  friends  are  falling  around  us, 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


413 


martyrs  to  the  holy  cause.  Go  back  now,  beloved,  to  your 
tlirice-blessed  ministry  of  mercy — and  I will  return  to  the 
duties  of  mine  office,  cheered  and  refreshed  by  these  few 
moments — alas!  how  few  and  brief!  spent  in  your  sweet 
company.” 

Yet  another  fond  pressure  of  the  hand,  another  wistful,  ling- 
ering look  and  Owen  Roe  was  hurrying  away  to  see  after  the 
condition  of  his  prisoners,  when  a low  moaning  struck  painfully 
on  his  ear,  and  starting  he  said : 

“Good  God,  Judith!  are  there  yet  other  mourners  here- 
abouts T’ 

“ Truly  yes,  Owen ! mayhap  the  most  heartstruck  of  all — 
an’  you  heard  not  of  this  before,  prepare  yourself  for  a pitiful 
sight !” 

“ Mother  of  Heaven  ! my  brave  Donogh — and  Shamus  Beg  ! 
■ — who — who  is  the  dead 

“ The  one  that  was  known  to  you  as  Angus  Dhu,”  said  the 
Rapparee. Captain  rising  slowly  from  his  half-recumbent  posture. 

“ Angus  Dhu  !”  repeated  Owen  in  faltering  accents;  “ surely, 
surely,  he  is  not  dead — the  bravest,  noblest,  gentlest  heart” — 
he  could  say  no  more. 

“ God  bless  you,  general !”  said  Donogh  in  a choking  voice  ; 
“ Angus  was  all  you  say,  but  he  is  dead  for  all  that ” 

“ Ay,  dead,  dead  and  cold,”  muttered  Shamus  in  a dreary, 
dreamy  tone,  without  raising  his  head  from  between  his  hands 
where  he  sat  on  the  ground  near  the  head  of  the  corpse.  “ And 
I’m  here  alive,  God  forgive  me  !” 

The  body  was  laid  on  a couch  of  fresh  green  fern,  and  ovpr 
it  was  thrown,  whether  by  accident  or  design,  one  of  the  flags 
captured  from  the  enemy,  a costly  piece  of  snow-white  silk, 
emblazoned  with  the  arms  of  Blayney,  and  tinted  in  many  places 
with  a crimson  hue,  suggestive  of  the  death  struggle  in  which 
it  was  lost  and  won.  Slowly  and  reverently  Owen  Roe  raised 
the  covering  from  the  face  of  the  corpse,  but  seeing  it,  he 
started  back  amazed  and  bewildered  ! it  was  the  face  of  a young 
and  handsome  female — it  was  that,  too,  of  Angus  Dhu,  wanting 
the  light  of  the  dark  flashing  eyes,  and  softened  into  feminine 
gentleness  by  the  smile  that  rested  on  the  features.  The  form 


414 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


was  arrayed  in  the  ghastly  habiliments  of  the  grave,  and  this 
was,  of  itself,  not  the  least  of  the  marvels  that  struck  Owen’s 
sight. 

“ Donogh  ! — Lady  Judith!”  he  exclaimed,  “who  is  this? — 
what  do  I behold?” 

“ You  behold  my  sister  Aileen,  General !”  said  Donogh  in 
tremulous  accents;  “she  and  I were  all  of  our  family  that 
escaped  alive  from  Island  Magee.  It  was  Shamus  there  that 
saved  her  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life  (there  was  a promise  of 
marriage  between  them  long  before),  and  as  he  and  I both 
thought,  we  left  her  in  a place  of  safety  till  the  war  would  be 
over.  The  poor  colleen  made  us  promise  at  our  off-going  that 
we  wouldn’t  either  of  us  go  next  or  nigh  her  till  the  Scots  were 
cut  off  root  and  branch,  and  the  ancient  faith  established  once 
more  in  Ulster.  She  had  taken  it  in  head,  you  see,  General, 
to  be  with  us  herself,  without  our  knowing  it,  and  to  do  what 
she  could,  be  it  less  or  more,  against  the  cursed  crew  that  had 
shed  the  blood  of  our  aged  parents  and  all  our  kin.*  And  sure, 
sure  it  was  little  myself  thought  when  I used  to  see  Angus 
slashing  away  at  the  bloody  Puritans,  cutting  them  down  right 
and  left,  that  it  was  our  light-hearted  little  Aileen  that  was  in  it 
all  the  time — Aileen  that  we  never  could  get  to  kill  a chicken— 
Aileen  that  wouldn’t  crush  a worm ” 

“You  didn’t  tell  how  she  came  by  her  death,”  broke  in 

* Let  no  reader  suppose  this  an  improbable  occurrence  in  a time 
of  such  universal  excitement,  when  all  ages,  and  both  sexes  were 
drawn,  whether  voluntarily  or  involuntarily,  into  the  vortex  of  stormy 
passion.  Grose,  in  the  second  volume  of  his  Irish  Antiquities , re- 
lates an  affecting  instance  of  this  kind  which  occurred  in  1642,  in  the 
battle  fought  near  Ballintubber,  in  the  County  Roscommon  : “ It  is 
recorded,”  says  he,  “ that  a young  Irish  gentleman  behaved  on  this 
occasion  with  singular  bravery  ; for,  after  his  party  fled,  he  placed 
himself  at  the  corner  of  a ditch,  where  he  defended  himself  with  his 
pike  against  five  horsemen,  who  fired  on  him : a gigantic  English 
soldier,  getting  behind  him,  slew  him.  Being  stripped,  and  his  mon- 
tero  taken  from  his  head,  long  tresses  of  flaxen  hair  fell  down  ; this 
farther  exciting  curiosity,  it  was  at  length  discovered  that  this  gallant 
youth  was  a female.” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


415 


Shamus  with  a wild  glance  around ; “ tell  the  General,  can’t  you! 
that  the  life  I saved  for  her  she  gave  up  for  me— how  she  came 
between  me  and  the  stroke  of  death — and  got  it  herself — but 
now  that  you  have  heard  so  much,  General !”  he  added,  jump- 
ing suddenly  to  his  feet,  “ I must  tell  you  the  rest — do  you  sea 
those  stains  on  the  banner  there'?”  pointing  to  the  one  that 
covered  the  body. 

“I  do,  Shamus!”  said  Owen  Roe  very  gently;  “what  ba 
they  ?” 

“ I’ll  just  tell  you  that,”  and  approaching  him,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  arm  and  whispered  in  quite  a confidential  way,  still 
pointing  a-t  the  ghastly  object,  “ that’s  the  heart’s-blood  of 
Lindsay — Lindsay,  you  know,  that  was  foremost  in  the  chase 
of  Aileen  and  me  that  night — Lindsay  that  swore  he’d  have  her 
in  spite  of  hell— ho ! ho ! ho ! when  I had  him  in  my  power 
once  before,  honor  and  your  bidding  tied  my  hands — but  I met 
him  to-day,  after  I left  Aileen  here  dead , and  there’s  no  use 
saying  what  I did,  but — but— there's  the  stain  on  the  flag  he 
had  in  his  hand — that  tells  the  story ! But  oh  ! Aileen, 
Aileen  !” — with  a sudden  burst  of  grief — “ sure  that  doesn’t  bring 
you  back  to  me — bow  can  I live  at  all  and  you  dead  and  gone 
from  me ! — oh  ! Blessed  Virgin  ! is  it  dreaming  I am  or  what — 
or  what  V’  And  with  that  poor  Shamus  sank  again  into  the 
listless  apathy  of  woe. 

“ Heaven’s  mercy  on  her  soul !”  ejaculated  Judith  as  she  care- 
fully smoothed  back  the  dark  tre«ses  which  the  raising  of  the 
strange  pall  had  slightly  ruffled  on  poor  Aileen’s  marble  brow. 
“ It  is  long  since  she  told  me  her  secret,  and  the  heroic  soul 
which  dwelt  within  that  slight  form  was  mayhap  better  known 
to  me  than  to  any  other  human  being.  Emmeline,  too,  was  of 
late  in  her  confidence,  and  it  was  our  privilege  to  prepare  her 
for  decent  burial  ere  yet  any  of  the  soldiers  had  returned  from 
the  field.” 

“ May  Heaven  reward  your  ladyship,  for  we  can  not !”  said 
Donogh  fervently ; “ the  poorest  of  the  poor  are  we  Rapparees — 
and  yet  we  are  rich  in  love  and  gratitude,  would  our  Lord  per- 
mit us  to  prove  it !” 

“ I doubt  it  not,  Donogh,”  said  J udith  kindly,  “ but  you  owe 


416 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CniEFTAINS. 


me  nothing,  I do  but  pay  a debt  of  long  standing — oh  ! would 
that  I could  do  aught  for  the  ever-faitlifnl  Rapparees  who  were 
friends  to  us  when  we  had  no  other  friends !” 

Here  a pressing  message  from  Colonel  O’Reilly,  who  had  charge 
of  the  prisoners,  called  Owen  Roe  away,  and  Judith  hastened  to 
resume  her  duties  in  their  sylvan  hospital. 

During  the  course  of  that  night  and  the  following  morning 
many  additional  prisoners  were  brought  in,  some  of  these  had 
been  found  hi  ling  in  the  bushes  and  thickets,  others  were  caught 
when  attempting  to  make  their  escape. 

A solemn  scene  took  place  on  the  day  following  that  “ fam- 
ous victory.”  The  Catholics  who  had  fallen,  to  the  number  of 
seventy,  were  borne  to  their  final  rest  in  the  consecrated  mould 
of  Eglish.  On  ordinary  occasions,  those  slain  in  battle  are  con- 
signed to  the  earth  which  their  last  footsteps  pressed — * 

“And  every  turf  beneath  his  feet 
Becomes  the  soldier’s  sepulchre,” 

but  not  so  after  the  battle  of  Benburb.  Each  clan  insisted  on 
carrying  its  own  dead  to  Eglish,  but  a few  miles  distant,  and  the 
general  was  not  the  man  to  offer  any  objection.  But  even 
Eglish,  old  and  venerable  and  hallowed  in  its  associations,  was  not 
deemed  a meet  resting-place  for  Lorcan  Maguire.  His  honored 
remains  were  borne  by  Roderick  and  his  clansmen  home  to  the 
ancient  burial-place  of  his  family  near  the  blue  waters  of  their 
own  Lough  Erne.  They  laid  the  old  warrior  down  to  rest  by 
the  side  of  his  fair-haired  Una, 

“ And  the  church-sha  low  falls  o’er  his  place  of  rest 
Where  the  steps  of  his  childhood  bounded.”* 

Happier  than  his  martyred  nephew  is  “ Lorcan  of  the  Spirits” 
in  that  his  body  awaits  the  resurrection  amongst  the  brave  and 
noble  of  his  own  race. 

Not  so  poor  Malachy  na  soggarth — not  so  poor  Aileen  Magee. 
Far  from  their  kindred  dust  they  were  laid  to  rest,  but  not  by 
stranger  hands,  nor  yet  amongst  strangers.  They  had  company 
enough  on  their  death-march,  and  those  they  loved  best  bore 


* Landon’s  Poem  of  The  Soldier's  Grave . 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


417 


them  to  the  graves  prepared  for  them  amongst  the  de- 
parted sons  and  daughters  of  Tyr-Owen.  And  the  churchyard 
bell  rang  clear  and  loud  that  day  as  none  ever  heard  it  ring 
before,  or  perchance  ever  again. 

It  was  a solemn,  yet  scarcely  a sorrowful  sight,  for  even  the 
crowds  of  country  people  who  raised  the  caoine  as  the  mighty 
funeral  passed  along,  were  heard  to  mingle  somewhat  of  exulta- 
tion with  the  doleful  strain.  Why  should  they  mourn  those  who 
had  fallen  in  defence  of  their  country  and  their  faith  1 — why 
should  they  grudge  them  the  glory  of  the  martyrs  death  1 Was 
it  not  well  for  them  to  die  as  they  did,  were  it  only  to  have 
Owen  Roe  and  Sir  Phelim,  and  the  Lord  of  Iveagh,  and  O’Reilly 
and  McMahon,  and  those  chiefs  of  high  renown  walking  after 
them  to  the  grave,  and  no  less  than  a bishop  blessing  the  clay 
that  was  to  be  their  bed  till  the  end  of  time  1 Truly,  they  were 
not  to  be  pitied,  those  heroes  of  Benburb — 

“ Whose  death-wound  came  amid  sword  and  p’ume 
Where  the  banner  and  the  ball  were  flying.”* 

Before  the  army  moved  from  Benburb  a Requiem  Mass  was 
said  at  poor  Malachy’s  altar  for  the  souls  of  those  who  had  fallen 
in  the  battle,  and  as  the  joyful  news  of  the  great  victory  sped 
on  through  the  country,  the  Atoning  Sacrifice  was  offered  up 
for  them  at  every  altar,  and  in  the  great  cathedrals  of  the  four 
provinces,  their  obsequies  were  celebrated  with  clouds  of  in- 
cense and  “ pealing  anthems,”  and  the  solemn  mourning  of  the 
church. 

The  thunders  of  the  cannon  of  Benburb  echoed  from  shore  to 
shore  and  filled  the  whole  island,  for  no  such  victory  had  yet 
crowned  the  confederate  arms.  The  Norman  lords  heard  it  in 
Kilkenny  and  it  hushed  their  cabals  awhile.  It  reached  Castle- 
haven  and  Netterville  in  the  Viceregal  halls  of  Dublin  Castle, 
and  the  swaggering  peer  was  driven  to  his  wit’s  end  for  some 
plausible  inuendo  against  Owen  Roe  O’Neill.  None,  however, 
could  he  find,  for  the  glorious  victory  of  the  Black  water  was 
too  stubborn  a fact  to  be  twisted  one  way  or  the  other.  “ There 
it  was,”  as  Netterville  observed  in  a disconsolate  tone,  “ staring 

* Lan don’s  Poem  of  The  Soldier’s  Grave. 


418 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


you  in  the  face,  turn  which  way  you  would.  It  was  well  to 
hear  of  the  Scotch  getting  their  due,  but  an’  it  went  to  pamper 
the  overbearing  pride  of  the  Irishry,  particularly  those  of  the 
north,  he  would  be  content  to  leave  Monroe  as  he  was  a while 
longer.” 

Castlehaven  administered  a faint  rebuke  to  this  unworthy  ad- 
mission, but  so  very  faint  was  it  that  Netterville  laughed  and 
tossed  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say  : “ I understand  your  lord- 
ship— a blind  man  may  see  bow  the  land  lies !” 

It  was  in  “ Limerick  of  the  Ships”  that  the  news  from  Ben- 
burb  reached  the  Nuncio.  He  had  gone  thither  some  weeks 
before  with  the  chief  men  of  the  Supreme  Council  to  superin- 
tend in  person  the  siege  of  Bunratty,  a strong  Castle  belonging 
to  the  Earl  of  Thomond.  Glamorgan  having  failed  in  this  im- 
portant enterprize,  Muskerry  had  been  appointed  in  his  place, 
and  the  noble-hearted  Italian  himself  accompanied  the  army — 
and,  in  fact,  directed  its  operations.  It  pleased  Heaven  to 
prosper  his  efforts,  and,  after  a vigorous  siege.of  twelve  days,  the 
garrison  was  compelled  to  surrender,  and  one  of  the  strongest 
places  on  the  Shannon  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Confederates* 
The  flush  of  this  great  victory  had  not  yet  subsided  when  the 
news  of  the  still  greater  one  of  Benburb  reached  Limerick.  It 
was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  the  pious  prelate  was  kneeling 
in  prayer  before  an  image  of  the  Virgin  Mother,  when  word  was 
brought  him  that  O’Neill  had  conquered  at  Benburb,  and  that 
whole  battalions  of  the  Puritans  had  been  cut  to  pieces. 

“ Blessed  be  the  Lord  of  Hosts !”  said  Rinuncini,  bowing  his 
head  reverently,  “ and  thou.  Mary,  Help  of  Christians ! receive 
my  thanks  for  thy  gracious  aid  !” 

So  saying  he  calmly  resumed  his  orisons,  as  though  dismissing 
the  subject  from  his  thoughts.  Some  half  an  hour  after  he  was 
listening,  his  face  radiant  with  joy,  to  Father  Hartigan’s  vivid 
description  of  the  battle  of  which  he  had  been  an  eye-witness. 

“ Truly,  our  Ulster  campaign  doth  begin  well,”  he  said  cheer- 
ily, after  taking  notes  of  the  principal  details,  “ but  say,  good 

* Meehan’s  Confederation , p.  146. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


419 


father!  how  fares  it  with  our  noble  friends'? — hath  Owen  O’Neill 
escaped  unhurt,  and  the  valorous  knight,  his  kinsman  V1 
“ They  are  well,  most  reverend  father !’ 

“ And  our  right  reverend  brother  of  Clogher'?” 

“ In  most  excellent  bodily  health,  and  uplifted  beyond  mea- 
sure in  spirit  at  the  great  things  achieved  by  our  northern 
army.” 

“ Went  he  forth  to  battle'?”  the  Nuncio  asked  with  a smile. 

“ Sooth  to  say  he  did,  and  I would  your  Grace  had  seen  how 
he  wielded  his  broad  claymore  that  day ! — suffice  it,  he  fought 
at  the  head  of  the  McMahons  by  the  side  of  their  valiant  chief, 
as  became  a son  of  his  princely  line — that  he  escaped  unhurt  is 
little  short  of  a miracle.” 

“ Our  Lord  be  praised  for  these  His  signal  mercies !”  said  the 
Nuncio,  with  a fervor  all  his  own.  “How  the  noble  heart  of 
Innocent  will  rejoice  at  these  tidings ! But  the  trophies,  good 
father ! what  said  you  of  trophies '?” 

“Yea,  my  good  lord!  trophies  we  have  in  abundance.  Our 
noble  general,  whose  days  may  Heaven  prolong ! desiring  above 
all  to  pleasure  your  Grace,  hath  sent  hither  with  what  dispatch 
we  could  make,  the  standards  captured  at  Benburb.  They 
await  your  inspection.” 

The  citizens  of  Limerick  witnessed  next  day  one  of  the  grand- 
est scenes  of  that  long-protracted  struggle.  At  the  close  of  the 
Vesper  service,  the  trophies  from  Benburb  were  borne  in  solemn 
procession  from  the  abbey  church  of  St.  Francis,  where  they 
had  been  placed  on  the  previous  day,  to  St.  Mary’s  Cathedral, 
where  the  Nuncio  had  already  deposited  the  banners  taken  at 
Bunratty.  Who  may  describe  the  enthusiasm  of  the  mighty 
multitude  that  thronged  the  streets  when  they  saw  thus  borne 
in  triumph  no  less  than  thirty-two  standards  bearing  the  arms 
of  the  principal  Puritan  generals  and  the  most  notable  Scottish 
“ undertakers”  of  Ulster.  The  Chichesters,  Montgomerys,  and 
Coles,  the  Blayneys,  the  Stewarts,  and  the  Hamiltons,  were  all 
and  each  represented  there  by  their  several  heraldric  devices. 

And  these  thirty-two  banners  were  borne  by  a like  number  of 
the  Confederate  Chieftains,  Skerrin,  Dunboyne,  Louth,  Howth, 
Fingal,  Slaney,  and  Netterville,  the  Dillons,  and  the  Plunkets, 


420 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


and  many  another  magnate  of  the  Pale,  nothing  loath  to  share 
with  their  brethren  of  the  old  blood  the  high  honor  purchased 
for  them  by  the  rare  generalship  of  Owen  Roe  and  the  bravery 
of  his  Celtic  followers.  Yet  even  there  the  difference  between 
the  races  was  plainly  discernible,  for  the  exultation  visible  on 
the  faces  of  the  Irish  chiefs,  and  the  joy  of  their  hearts,  mani- 
fested in  the  bounding  lightness  of  their  step,  was  too  strongly 
contrasted  by  the  clouded  brows  and  grave  demeanor  of  the 
Norman  Confederates.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  former  iden- 
tified themse'ves  with  the  victory  of  Benburb,  whilst  the  latter 
grudged  the  glory  of  it  to  an  Irish  chieftain. 

Stately  and  grand  as  became  his  high  office,  calm  and  col- 
lected as  a Christian  priest  ought  to  be,  Rinuccini  walked  after 
the  standard-bearers,  accompanied  by  the  Archbishop  of  Cashel, 
writh  the  bishops  of  Limerick,  Clonfert,  and  Ardfert.  Then 
came  the  mayor  and  aldermen  of  the  city,  with  the  multitude 
of  citizens  in  their  gala  dress.  At  the  head  of  the  procession, 
preceding  the  trophies,  marched  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison 
with  the  national  colors — the  white  and  green  of  the  Confede- 
rates waving  proudly  above  the  stately  column.* 

Having  reached  St.  Mary’s  Cathedral,  the  procession  came  to 
a stand,  the  banners,  torn  and  bloody  as  they  were,  were  car- 
ried up  the  aisle  to  the  high  altar,  at  the  foot  of  which  they 
■were  laid,  whilst  the  Nuncio,  and  the  bishops,  and  all  the  priests, 
and  the  nobles  of  the  Pale,  and  the  Celtic  chiefs,  and  all  the 
vast  assemblage  of  soldiers  and  citizens  intoned  together  the 
hymn  of  thanksgiving,  till  crypt,  and  nave,  and  chancel  echoes 
the  joyous  sound — 

“ As  thro’  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise.” 

Truly,  it  was  a glorious,  a soul-stirring  scene,  and  no  heart  in 
all  that  countless  throng  felt  its  inspiration  more  vividly  than 
that  of  the  Nuncio,  Rinuccini.  The  people’s  cries  of  “O’Neill 
for  ever! — glory  to  the  Red  Hand  !”  found  an  echo  in  his  gene- 
rous heart. 

* When  shall  we  see  a Maclise,  or  a Barry,  giving  Ireland  a fitting 
representation  of  such  scenes  as  that  above  described?  When  shall 
the  history  of  our  country  be  illustrated  on  canvas  by  the  genius  of 
^er  sons  ? 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


421 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

“ Strike — till  the  last  arm’d  foe  expires  ; 

Strike  for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ; 

Strike  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ; 

God,  and  your  native  land!” 

Fitz-Green  Halleck. 

“ While  the  tree 

Of  freedom’s  wither’d  trunk  puts  forth  a leaf 

Even  for  thy  tomb  a gariand  let  it  be.” 

Byron’s  Childe  Harold. 

The  glories  of  Benburb  and  of  Limerick  passed  away  like  a 
dream.  O’Neill  was  not  suffered  to  follow  up  bis  victory  in 
Ulster,  for  the  Nuncio  found  it  necessary  to  recall  him  to  Leins- 
ter with  his  victorious  army  to  keep  Preston  and  the  Ormondists 
in  check.  The  Council  was  bent  on  concluding  the  peace  on 
Ormond’s  terms,  and  Rinuccini  was  just  as  bent  on  preventing 
it  for  the  dear  sake  of  religion.  Armed  with  the  power  of  the 
Church,  and  strengthened  by  the  firm  adhesion  of  the  Ulster 
general,  who  had  given  his  army  the  distinctive  title  of  Catho- 
lic, to  the  great  offence  of  Preston  and  the  others — the  Nuncio 
carried  matters  with  a high  hand.  The  struggle  which  followed 
brought  out  in  strong  relief  the  indomitable  energy  of  that 
prelate,  his  burning  zeal  for  religion,  bis  uncompromising  ho- 
nesty and  singleness  of  purpose,  together  with  a love  for  Ireland 
and  a devotion  to  the  interests  of  her  Catholic  people  never 
entertained  by  any  foreigner.  For  three  long  years  did  this 
high-souled  and  generous  stranger  combat  the  narrow  selfish- 
ness, the  unworthy  prejudices,  and  the  cold  indifference  of  the 
English  or  Ormond  faction.  With  the  clergy  on  his  side,  and 
the  old  Irish,  and  money  and  war-supplies  in  abundance,  Rinuc- 
cini felt  himself  strong  enough  to  set  the  Ormondists  at  defiance, 
and  to  threaten  them  with  the  severest  penalties  in  case  they 
dared  to.  persist  in  their  fatal  course.  Persist  they  did,  never- 
theless, making  use  of  every  effort  to  thwart  the  Nuncio’s  views 
and  to  advance  those  of  Ormond,  the  arch-enemy  of  their  faith. 


422 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Enraged  by  the  undisguised  favor  in  which  the  Nuncio  held 
Owen  Roe  and  the  “Irishry,”  Preston  and  Castlehaven,  and 
Mountgarret  and  Muskeriy,  cared  little  what  measures  they 
took  or  what  party  they  joined,  so  that  the  too-formidable 
Ulster  general  was  humbled  and  his  power  destroyed.  Hotter 
and  fiercer  grew  the  contest.  Ormond  and  his  infatuated 
henchman,  Father  Peter  Walsh,  buoying  up  their  party  in  the 
Council  with  delusive  hopes  of  advantageous  compromise,  the 
while  they  embittered  them  more  and  more  against  the  Nuncio, 
and  O’Neill,  and  the  old  Irish.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Catholic 
party  in  the  General  Assembly  was  sustained  and  invigorated 
by  the  commanding  talents  and  untiring  zeal  and  lofty  patriot- 
ism of  Bishop  French,  who,  through  all  that  miserable  period 
of  storm  and  strife,  and  low  intrigue  and  shameless  partizanship, 
stood  ever  in  the  van  of  the  clergy,  their  mouthpiece,  their 
standard-bearer,  so  to  speak.*  His  word  was  law  with  the 
Catholic  party,  whilst  the  highest  and  proudest  of  his  adversa- 
ries were  compelled  to  yield  him  a measure  of  respect.  Ormond 
and  his  “shadow,”  Father  Walsh,  were  especially  obnoxious  to 
the  far-seeing,  clear-headed  prelate,  for  he  saw  in  them  the 
roots  of  all  the  evils  that  were  coming  upon  the  Confederates, 
and  the  Marquis  and  his  party  in  turn  both  feared  and  hated 
Nicholas  French. 

Rinuccini,  French,  O’Neill ! guardian  spirits  of  the  rapidly- 
decaying  Confederation ! how  grandly  and  boldly  do  your 
figures  stand  out  on  the  dark  back-ground  of  that  stormy  time, 
your  genius,  your  faith,  your  lofty  self-devotion,  the  anchor  and 
stay  of  the  Confederacy,  the  beacon  and  example  unto  all. 

* Mr.  McGee,  in  his  Gallery  of  Irish  Writers , has  done  ample 
justice  to  the  character  of  this  great  man,  in  all  respects  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  prelates  that  ever  adorned  the  Irish  Church.  “ He 
had  been,”  says  he,  “an  Ambassador  to  four  different  Courts.  He 
had  ruled  with  episcopal  power  in  four  different  countries.  As  a 
public  man  and  an  ecclesiastic  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  powers, 
his  address,  the  extent  of  his  accomplishments,  nor  of  the  greatness 
of  his  labors.  He  was  the  leader  of  all  work  to  the  Catholic  Confe- 
deracy. He  was  one  of  the  best  known  Christian  bishops  of  his 
age,” 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


423 


With  three  such  men  at  their  head  the  Catholics  could  not  fail 
to  command  success  had  they  been  all  of  the  same  mind,  all 
equally  devoted  to  the  cause  of  freedom.  But  Ormond  and 
Father  Peter  had  long  ago  undermined  the  union  that  should 
have  existed,  and  by  sowing  dissensions,  fomenting  jealousies, 
and  fanning  the  small  flame  of  private  piques  into  public  confla- 
grations, had  dried  up  the  sap  from  the  stately  tree  that  had 
promised  so  fair  for  Ireland,  till  they  made  it  a useless  and 
withered  thing,  cumbering  the  ground  and  tottering  to  its  fall. 

It  were  sad  to  tell  how  fiercely  the  partizans  of  Ormond  in 
the  Council  resisted  the  noble  efforts  of  Rinuccini  and  Bishop 
French.  How  Preston  and  O’Neill  became  open  foes,  and  when 
sent  to  besiege  Ormond  in  Dublin  with  two  noble  armies,  took 
to  quarrelling  between  themselves,  and  allowed  the  common 
enemy  to  escape  the  ruin  which  their  joint  attack  would  have 
been  to  him.  That  saddest  of  sights  was  seen  on  the  Liffey’s 
banks,  just  when  the  Confederates  had  the  capital  all  but  sur- 
rounded, when  one  vigorous  and  simultaneous  effort  would  have 
made  them  masters  of  the  city.  Failing  in  that,  they  failed  in  all, 
and  missed  an  opportunity  which  never  came  again.  The  bond 
of  union  so  rudely  rent  asunder  was  never  again  to  be  cemented 
— thenceforth,  “ O’Neill  and  the  old  Irish” — “ Preston  and  the 
new  Irish”  stood  as  openly  arrayed  against  each  other  as  any 
two  parties  amongst  the  belligerents.  In  vain  did  Rinuccini 
put  forth  all  the  powers  wherewith  nature  and  religion  had 
endowed  him;  in  vain  did  he  exhort,  entreat,  menance — the 
Mountgarrets  and  Muskerrys,  with  the  tribe  of  Plunkets  and 
Butlers,  were  encased  in  triple  folds  of  envy,  self-conceit,  and 
self-interest  (perhaps  thickest  of  all !),  which  rendered  them 
proof  against  the  Nuncio’s  exertions.  The  peace  with  Ormond 
was  signed  on  his  own  terms,  and  the  affairs  of  the  Catholics 
left  once  more  to  the  king’s  discretion.  Seeing  this  the  Nuncio 
had  recourse  to  an  expedient  which  set  all  Ireland  in  a blaze. 
He  caused  the  refractory  members  of  the  Council  to  be  impris- 
oned in  Kilkenny,  and  new  members  elected  in  their  place. 
By  this  arrangement  more  of  the  bishops  and  fewer  of  the  lay- 
men were  in  the  Council,  the  generals  were  all  brought  under  its 
control,  and  Rinuccini  after  a little  time  was  placed  at  the  head 


424 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


of  the  provisional  government.  It  was  a strange  state  of  affairs, 
but  stranger  still  was  to  come,  ay  ! strange  beyond  all  belief. 
Ireland  became  one  wide  battle-field  ; the  distinction  of  parties 
was  at  times  all  but  lost,  so  frequent  were  the  changes  and 
transitions  from  one  side  to  the  other  amongst  the  great  captains. 
Thus  Ormond  had  been  forced  to  fly  from  Dublin,  and  the  city 
was  left  in  the  hands  of  Jones,  the  Parliamentarian  General. 
Jones  was  in  turn  surrounded  by  the  armies  of  the  Confederates, 
and  Owen  Roe,  with  his  army,  sat  down  at  Trim,  watching 
him  so  closely  that  he  dared  not  stir  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
metropolis. 

Strangest  and  most  unnatural  of  all  was  the  truce  proposed  by 
Inchiquin  to  the  Confederates — Inchiquin  still  reeking  with  the 
blood  of  slaughtered  Catholics,  abominable  from  his  sacrile- 
gious crimes,  and  of  all  men  living  the  most  feared  and  hated 
by  those  of  the  old  faith.  This  man,  finding  it  his  interest  to 
unite  with  the  king’s  troops,  desired  a truce  with  the  Confede- 
rates, and  the  Ormandists  gladly  embraced  his  offer,  with  the 
avowed  expectation  of  his  alliance  being  profitable  to  their 
patron.  Rinuccini  declared  vehemently  against  so  unholy  a 
compact,  but  his  admonitions  were  disregarded  and  his  opinions 
overruled.  The  chiefs  of  Irish  blood  were  his  sole  dependence, 
and  first  of  all  Owen  Roe,  his  faithful  and  devoted  friend,  the 
confidant  cf  all  his  projects  for  the  good  of  religion,  the  able 
and  judicious  counsellor,  the  zealous  executor  of  his  will.  Dur- 
ing all  those  dreary  years  of  heart-wearing  struggle  and 
fierce  dissension,  when  all  within  and  without  the  Confedera- 
tion was  discord,  storm,  and  strife,  Owen  Roe  stood  firm  as  a 
rock  by  the  side  of  his  illustrious  patron,  his  very  name  an 
intimidation  to  the  internal  and  external  enemies  of  the  cause. 
Second  to  Owen  Roe  in  command  was  the  heroic  Bishop  of 
Clogher,  a kindred  spirit  if  there  was  one  in  Ireland,  as  far  as  fer- 
vent patriotism,  and  singleness  of  purpose,  and  devotion  to  the 
interests  of  religion  went,  3 et  not  to  be  compared  to  Bishop 
French  in  statesmanlike  qualities,  for  which,  indeed,  that  pre- 
late was  famous  amongst  the  men  of  his  time.  Nevertheless, 
Heber  of  Clogher  was  one  of  the  firmest  pillars  of  the  Confede- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


425 


racy,  his  bold,  uncompromising,  and  somewhat  fiery  spirit  mak- 
ing him  a special  favorite  with  tho  Nuncio. 

Then  O’Reilly,  “ the  green-mantled  chief  of  Breffny,”  McMahon 
and  Maguire,  O’Rourke  and  Magennis,  and  honest  Phelim 
O’Neill,  and,  indeed,  all  the  Ulster  chiefs  were  true  and  staunch, 
full  of  that  noble  enthusiasm  which  fired  them  on  the  field  of 
red  Benburb ; opposed  as  ever  to  the  selfish  and  traitorous  prac- 
tices of  the  Normans,  and  prodigal  as  ever  of  their  own  blood 
where  religion  and  love  of  country  beckoned  them  on  to  deeds 
of  daring. 

Alas ! there  were  fearful  odds  against  the  national  party. 
The  Scots  were  rapidly  recruiting  their  shattered  strength  in 
Ulster  and  burning  to  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  Benburb.  Pres- 
ton was  willing  to  unite  even  with  Inchiquin  provided  the 
alliance  would  enable  him  to  crush  Owen  O’Neill — that  chieftain 
had  removed  his  quarters  to  Dunamase,  and  in  the  ancient 
Castle  of  the  O’Moores,  looking  forth  from  their  embattled  rock* 
over  the  plains  of  Leix,  he  awaited  the  decision  of  the  Council 
with  regard  to  Inchiquin’s  truce.  He  was  not  alone  in  that 
eyrie-like  fortress — he  had  Phelim  and  Tirlogh  O’Neill,  Bishop 
McMahon  and  Art  Oge,  O’Reilly,  Magennis,  and  the  brave 
young  chieftain  of  Fermanagh.  How  often  their  hearts  swelled 
as  they  thought  of  Rory,  the  rightful  lord  of  that  princely  domain 
over  which  their  eyes  wandered,  as  they  remembered  the  infant 
days  of  the  Confederacy,  and  his  noble  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  ! 
— how  bitterly  they  cursed  the  narrow  prejudice  of  the  Pale  lords 
which  bad  given  to  the  choleric  and  unstable  Preston  the  com- 
mand of  that  army  which  should  have  been  his,  and  thereby 
driven  him  from  their  ranks  at  the  first  tug  of  war ! 

All  at  once  came  the  astounding  intelligence  that  the  truce 
with  Inchiquin  was  completed,  that  “ Murrogh  of  the  Burnings” 

* Dunamase,  the  ancient  stronghold  of  the  0’ Mores,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  places,  perhaps,  in  Ireland.  The  rock  is  of  great 
height,  and  presents  the  appearance  of  an  embattled  fortress.  Ita 
top  is  crowned  by  the  once  proud  Castle  of  Dunamase,  where  the  chiefs 
of  Leix,  the  noble  and  chivalrous  0 Mores,  dwelt  of  old  in  prinoely 
state. 


426 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


was  the  ally  of  the  Confederate  Catholics,  Murrogh  still  reeking 
with  the  blood  of  the  Cashel  massacre,  Murrogh  accursed  of 
God  and  man  on  account  of  his  sacrilegious  crimes.* 

The  burning  indignation  of  the  chiefs  was  beyond  all  bounds, 
and  they  had  well  nigh  made  up  their  minds  to  mar  ch  with  all 
speed  against  the  madmen  who  were  wantonly  casting  from 
them  the  barest  possibility  of  success.  But  the  Nuncio — they 
must  await  his  decision,  and  see  what  course  he  would  have 
them  take.  Great  Heavens  ! what  tremendous  tidings  were  the 
next  that  came  from  Kilkenny.  Who  could  have  dreamod  that 
even  Binuccini  would  have  had  recourse  to  so  terrible  an  expe- 
dient. 

A few  days  after  the  publication  of  the  truce  the  stern  repre- 
sentative of  Innocent  X.  caused  to  be  posted  on  the  doors  of 
St.  Canice’s  Cathedral  a sentence  of  excommunication  against 
all  the  abettors  and  observers  of  the  truce,  and  declaring  at  the 
same  time  all  towns,  cities  or  villages  wherein  it  was  observed, 

* Some  of  the  noblest  flights  of  Rinuecini’s  eloquence  were  direeted 
against  this  fatal  truce.  “ Make  no  truce  with  this  man,”  said  the 
Nuncio,  “he  has  three  times  changed  sides.  If  the  massacre  at 
Cashel  has  left  no  trace  on  your  memories,  recollect  that  a month 
ago  he  pillaged  the  town  of  Carrick  and  slew  the  inhabitants,  who 
were  Catholics,  palliating  the  atrocity  by  asserting  that  he  could  not 
restrain  his  soldiers.  Remember,  too,  that  he  has  driven  the  Catho- 
lic clergy  out  of  the  Cathedral  of  Callan,  and  introduced  those  who  do 
not  profess  your  religion.  Talk  not  of  your  inability  to  carry  war 

into  his  quarters Inchiquin  has  not  more  than  3,000  men  in 

Munster ; they  are  naked  and  hungry,  and  you  fear  him  when  you 
ought  to  despise  him.  In  Connaught  and  Ulster,  the  Scotch  are  able 
to  do  little  more  than  commit  robberies  for  their  sustenance.  At  the 
present  moment,  Owen  O'Neill  has  an  army  of  more  than  6,000  men. 
He  is  ready  to  act  against  Inchiquin  in  the  South,  and  I wdll  supply 
money  to  pay  his  troops,  and  thus  rid  you  of  these  scruples  with 
which  the  ravages  of  his  sol  iers  have  so  long  afflicted  you.  I ex- 
hort you  to  union  of  heart  and  purpose;  and  remember  that  your 
rulors  of  England  have  never  treated  you,  Catholics,  with  respect, 
except  when  you  stood  in  a united  and  formidable  league.” — Rin- 
uccini’s  Relatione , pp  312,  420. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


427 


as  solemnly  interdicted.  Amongst  the  old  Irish  this,  of  course, 
put  an  end  to  the  truce  with  Inchiquin,  but  the  Ormondists  faith- 
fully observed  it,  in  utter  disregard  of  the  dread  anathema  of 
the  Church,  some  of  them  even  boasting  that  they  were  “ex- 
communication  proof.”  Preston,  however,  was  made  to  feel 
that  his  soldiers,  at  least,  were  not  so,  for  immediately  on  the 
promulgation  of  the  decree  2,000  of  them  deserted  to  O’Neill’s 
army. 

At  last  the  time  came  when  Rinuccini  had  to  call  on  Owen 
Roe  and  the  Irish  chiefs  to  unfurl  their  banners  and  draw  their 
swords  against  the  recreant  Catholics  who  had  already  broken 
the  oath  of  Confederation  by  accepting  treaties  and  making 
various  agreements  with  the  enemy  without  the  consent  of  the 
entire  body.  Many  brilliant  achievements  shed  lustre  on  the 
arms  of  these  true  sons  of  the  Church  led  on  by  Owen  Roe  and 
fighting  under  the  immediate  direction  of  the  Nuncio.  At  the 
pass  of  Ballaghmore,  this  great  tactician  defeated  and  foiled  no 
less  than  five  generals  who  had  united  their  forces  against  him.* 
When  any  other  commander  of  the  Catholic  party  failed  in  an 
enterprize,  O’Neill  was  called  into  action,  and  seldom  indeed 
did  he  fail  to  effect  his  object. 

But  what  availed  all  his  valor  and  military  skill  1 what  availed 
all  the  talents  and  all  the  energy  of  Rinuccini  and  French  'l 
Preston  was  not  ashamed  to  let  his  rancorous  jealousy  carry 
him  so  far  as  to  form  a league  with  Murrogh  O’Brien  for  the 
avowed  object  of  crushing  O’Neill.  Conspiracy,  dark  and  dire, 
was  at  work.  Plots  were  even  formed  amongst  the  quondam 
Confederates  and  their  new  allies  against  the  very  life  of  the 
Nuncio,  whom  they  branded  as  the  disturber  of  the  peace,  the 
arch-agitator  whose  influence  alone  kept  the  old  Irish  from  ac- 
cepting peace  on  Ormond’s  terms,  and  turning  their  arms  with 
him  against  the  king’s  enemies.  Even  some  of  the  bishops  were 
won  over  to  oppose  the  Nuncio’s  policy,  on  the  plea  of  condemn- 
ing “ the  censures.”  That  fatal  measure,  however  necessary  it 
might  have  appeared  to  a man  of  Rinuccini’s  temperament  so 
situated,  was  eventually  the  cause  of  yet  more  fearful  dissensions 


* Meehan’s  Confederation , p.  223. 


428 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


in  the  Confederate  camp,  seeing  that  it  divided  the  clergy  into 
two  distinct  parties.  Things  came  at  last  to  such  a pass  that  the 
bishops  on  either  side  were,  of  necessity,  escorted  to  and  from 
Kilkenny  by  detachments  from  their  respective  armies.  Yet 
still  Rinuccini  kept  his  ground,  and  by  his  side  Nicholas  French 
— they  did  not  quite  despair  so  long  as  Owen  Roe  had  an  army 
in  the  field,  and  together  they  toiled,  struggling  against  all  odds, 
exhorting,  persuading,  anathematizing  when  all  else  failed.  In 
vain,  in  vain,  “ the  national  spirit  only  survived  in  the  hearts  of 
O’Neill  and  the  clergy,”*  and  the  chiefs  of  the  old  blood,  for 
they  alone  were  willing  to  sacrifice  all  for  the  cause  now  rapidly 
becoming  hopeless. 

At  the  storming  of  the  Castle  of  Drumruisk  on  the  Connaught 
boundary,  the  Irish  army  sustained  a heavy  loss  in  the  brave 
and  chivalrous  Roderick  Maguire,  who  fell  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment — meet  death  for  the  brother  of  Connor  Maguire,  the 
nephew  of  gallant  old  Lorcan — that  fiery  young  chieftain  who, 
in  the  first  outbreak  of  the  rebellion,  had  inflicted  such  severe 
chastisement  on  the  robber-planters  of  Fermanagh ! He  fell, 
like  his  martyred  brother,  in  the  flower  of  his  years,  his  death 
no  less  heroic  than  that  of  Connor.  The  chieftains  by  whose 
side  he  had  so  often  fought,  and  the  general  whose  fortunes  he 
had  so  faithfully  followed,  mourned  him,  as  well  they  might. 
Could  any  amongst  them  have  looked  but  one  short  year  into 
the  future  they  would  have  envied  the  fate  of  their  gallant  friend. 
As  it  was  they  only  saw  in  his  premature  death  the  loss  of  one 
of  their  truest  hearts  and  strongest  arms — one  of  the  first  of  the 
Confederate  Chieftains,  one  of  whom  it  might  truly  be  said,  from 
the  dawn  of  the  Confederacy,  that 

“ Never  then,  nor  thence,  till  now,  hath  falsehood  or  disgrace 
Been  seen  to  soil  Maguire's  plume,  or  mantle  on  his  face.’ 

Another  laurel  lor  “ the  sons  of  the  waters,”  but,  alas  ! too 
dearly  purchased. 

Would  that  pen  of  mine  could  do  justice  to  the  memory  of 
those  who  upheld  the  banner  of  faith  and  nationality  through 


* Meehan’s  Confederation. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


429 


the  disastrous  times  which  followed,  under  the  leadership  of 
that  holy  and  zealous  prelate  who  had  adopted  the  cause  of 
poor  Ireland  as  his  own,  and  loved  her  patriotic  and  faithful 
sons  with  all  the  capacity  of  his  great  heart.  But  my  tale  has 
already  far  exceeded  the  bounds  which  I had  prescribed  for  it, 
and  I must  draw  a veil,  however  reluctantly,  over  that  most 
eventful  period. 

In  1648  the  final  peace  was  concluded  which  virtually  dis- 
solved the  Confederation.  The  false-hearted  Norman  peers  who 
had  come  so  reluctantly  into  the  Union  were  the  ultimate  ruin 
of  the  cause.  In  order  to  leave  their  great  patron,  Ormond,  at 
liberty  to  carry  out  his  own  plans,  they  accepted  the  bare  tol- 
eration which  he  chose  to  give  them,  instead  of  the  complete 
restoration  of  their  faith  to  its  ancient  independence,  according 
to  the  just  demands  of  Rinuccini  and  Owen  Roe,  the  clergy,  and 
the  chiefs  of  the  old  blood.  For  ever  execrated  be  the  memory 
of  those  craven  Catholics,  unworthy  the  name,  who  threw  the 
game  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  and  bartered  away  the  rights 
of  their  country  and  religion  for  les3  than  “ the  shadow  of  a 
shade !” 

About  the  same  time  that  witnessed  the  final  fall  of  the  once 
powerful  Confederation,  the  truckling  and  hollow-hearted 
Charles  ended  his  life  on  the  scaffold,  a victim  no  less  to  his 
own  want  of  principle  and  disregard  of  justice  than  the  bloody 
fanaticism  of  his  Puritan  subjects. 

It  was  a dismal  year  for  Ireland,  the  year  ’49.  Almost  at  its 
opening,  the  old  City  of  the  Tribes  witnessed  a mournful  scene. 
The  Nuncio  Rinuccini,  worn  out  at  last  by  the  heart-wearing 
cares  and  troubles  of  his  office,  and  despairing  of  effecting  the 
liberation  of  a country  whose  sons  were  so  split  up  into  factions, 
and  so  embittered  against  each  other,  made  up  his  mind  to 
return  to  Italy,  at  least  for  a time,  until  some  favorable  change 
might  take  place  in  Ireland. 

In  vain  did  Owen  Roe  and  the  bishops  who  wTere  his  friends 
seek  to  dissuade  him  from  this  step,  reminding  him  of  all  he  had 
done  for  the  cause,  and  imploring  him  not  to  give  it  up  whilst 
success  was  still  possible.  The  Nuncio  shook  his  head  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  and  pointed  to  his  shrunken  cheek  and  his 


430 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


hollow  chest.  The  hint  was  more  than  sufficient  for  the  true 
friends  who  surrounded  Rinuccini.  They  knew  that  his  health 
had  been  undermined  by  the  superhuman  labors  of  mind  and 
body,  which  for  tour  long  years  he  had  unceasingly  undergone, 
and  worse  than  all,  the  grief  of  seeing  his  mighty  efforts  thrown 
away,  and  that  Ireland,  which  he  hoped  to  leave  free  and  pros- 
perous, in  no  better  condition  than  when  he  landed  on  her  shore. 

“ Ask  me  not  to  stay,  kind  friends !”  he  said  mournfully, 
“ my  doing  so  could  not  now  benefit  Ireland — if  it  could,  there 
were  no  need  to  ask  me,  for  the  shattered  remnant  of  my 
strength  were  well  employed  in  the  service  of  your  faithful  na- 
tion. But  so  long  as  you  are  cursed  with  such  Catholics  as 
Clanrickarde,  Muskerry  and  Mountgarret,  and  that  young  Net- 
terville  who  is  now  Ormond’s  aid-de-camp,  and  Castlehaven  who 
doth  assuredly  serve  that  lord  with  more  zeal  than  he  ever 
served  the  Confederacy,  all  you  or  I — or  any  man  living  could 
do  to  recover  your  national  and  religious  independence  were  not 
worth  a feather.” 

“ What,  then,”  said  Bishop  French  with  some  show  of  resent- 
ment ; “ would  your  Grace  have  us  give  up  at  once  I” 

“ Not  so,  my  reverend  lord,”  said  Rinuccini  with  a kindly 
smile,  and  turning  he  laid  his  hand  on  Owen  Roe’s  shoulder; 
“ there  is  hope  for  Ireland  whilst  O'Neill  lives — darkness  will 
never  quite  overshadow  the  land  so  long  as  the  Red  Hand 
banner  is  afloat— when  that  goes  down,  the  cross  goes  down 
with  it,  and  tin  hoof  of  the  fanatic  will  crush  the  heart  of 
Ireland — oh  faithful,  long-enduring  Ireland!  when,  when  shall 
the  Sabbath  of  peace  dawn  for  you  I” 

He  then  turned  and  thanked  the  assembled  crowd  for  tlis 
gallant  stand  made  by  the  citizens  of  Galway  against  the  fatal 
peace,*  and  as  they  fell  on  their  knees  with  tears  and  sobs,  he 
extended  his  hand  and  gave  the  apostolic  benediction. 

* Galway,  in  common  with  many  others  of  the  principal  cities, 
totally  refused  to  have  “the  peace”  proclaimed  within  its  walls. 
“ It  would  be  idle,”  says  Rov.  Mr.  Meehan,  “ to  imagine  that  this 
peace  gave  satisfaction  to  the  people  of  Ireland.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  soon  ascertained  that  it  gave  them  no  guarantee  for  those  rights 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


431 


« To  you,”  said  he,  “ people  of  Galway,  and  to  all  true  and 
faithful  Catholics  in  this  land  of  Ireland.  Be  ye  blessed  for 
ever,  and  your  children  throughout  all  time ! Were  your  faith- 
less nobles  like  unto  you  in  devotion  to  the  Church,  my  mission 
would  have  had  a different  result— — 

Turning  to  Owen  Roe  and  Bishop  French,  he  took  a hand  of 
each  and  said  with  much  feeling : “ Beloved  fellow-laborers ! 
farewell ! — blame  me  not  if  my  mission  hath  been  unsuccessful 
— you  know  I did  all  I could  to  free  the  Church  of  Ireland— 
you  know  how  my  best  endeavors  were  met  and  thwarted  at 
every  move  by  those  who  had  sworn  to  defend  the  ancient  faith 
at  all  hazards  nor  lay  down  their  arms  till  its  shackles  were  all 
broken — you  know  how  recreant  Catholics  have  maligned  and 
traduced  me — yea,  even  at  the  Court  of  Rom9— and  that  some 
amongst  them  have  even  conspired  against  my  life — all  this 
you  know,  noble  and  right  trusty  friends,  but  you  do  not  know 
— cannot  know — all  the  love  that  I cherish  in  my  heart  for  you 
and  yours ! My  lord  of  Clogher,  your  hand ! I may  never  see 
the  face  of  any  one  of  you  again,  but — but — I will  not  forget 
you ! I will  do  what  in  my  power  lies  to  advance  that  sacred 
cause  the  which  I leave,  for  the  present,  in  your  hands ! Be 
firm  and  faithful  as  you  have  been,  and  leave  the  issue  to 
God!” 

“May  Heaven  requite  your  Grace  an  hundred-fold,”  said 
Nicholas  of  Ferns  with  strong  emotion,  “ for  all  you  have  done 
in  behalf  of  poor  bleeding  Ireland  !” 

“ Say  rather,  my  dear  good  brother,  for  what  I meant  to  do, 
and  would  have  done,  were  it  not  for  the  treachery  of  those 
amongst  you  who  have  made  Ormond  their  idol.  Pray  Heaven 
they  discover  that  man’s  hollowness  ere  it  be  too  late !” 

which  aroused  them  to  take  up  arms  and  maintain  a war  of  so  many 
years  duration.  It  was  indignantly  rejected  by  the  whole  province 
of  Ulster,  the  cities  of  Waterford,  Limerick,  Clonmel,  and  Dungarvan. 
Twenty  of  the  great  Irish  families  in  the  province  of  Munster  signed 
a protest  against  it.  Galway  ....  refused  to  receive  it : and, 
in  the  province  of  Leinster,  it  was  treated  with  contempt  by  all  the 
heads  of  the  old  Irish.” — Confederation , p.  159. 


432 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Rinuccini  departed,  and  with  him  went  the  sun  of  Ireland’s 
prosperity  ; from  that  day  forth,  the  Ormondists  had  it  all  their 
own  way,  at  least  in  three  of  the  provinces ; their  arms  were 
devoted,  as  their  hearts  had  been,  to  the  advancement  of 
his  views,  and,  as  they  fondly  believed,  the  upholding  the  falling 
throne  of  t'he  Stuarts.  Little  did  they  dream,  until  sad  experi- 
ence forced  conviction  on  them,  that  their  patron  was  all  along 
playing  a double  game — coquetting  with  the  rebellious  Parlia- 
ment, both  before  and  after  the  execution  of  his  royal  master, 
the  while  he  kept  Preston,  and  even  the  astute  Clanrickarde, 
and  indeed  the  whole  body  of  the  Anglo-Irish  Catholics  dangling 
after  him  as  most  approved  good  servants  of  his  mightiness, 
James  Butler.  It  was  not  till  he  had  delivered  Dublin  into  the 
hands  of  the  Parliamentarians,  and  sent  his  son  Richard  to  them 
as  a hostage  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  compact  with  them,  that 
the  duped  Catholics  began  to  see  their  error,  and  mourn  when 
too  late  the  share  they  had  taken  in  breaking  up  that  powerful 
Confederation  which,  had  all  its  members  been  true  to  its  prin- 
ciples, must  and  would  have  prevailed.  They  found  that  even 
Ormond  himself  did  not  attach  the  same  importance  to  their 
adhesion  as  when  they  formed  a part  of  that  magnificent  body 
whose  influence  was  felt  in  every  corner  of  the  island.  Ah  ! 
dismal  retribution ! Mountgarret,  waiting  in  Ormond’s  ante- 
chamber, found  himself  only  “ my  Lord  Mountgarret”— and  the 
old  man  groaned  in  spirit  as  he  thought  of  the  days  when,  as 
President  of  the  Supreme  Council,  his  name  and  office  com- 
manded respect.  Muskerry,  too,  was  doomed  to  realize  Rin- 
uccini’s  prophetic  words.  When,  some  years  after,  he  lay 
extended  on  his  bed  of  death,  and  the  past  appeared  to  him  in 
its  true  colors,  viewed  by  the  ghastly  light  of  the  tomb,  he  said 
in  a contrite  spirit  to  those  who  were  in  attendarce  upon  him, 
“ that  the  heaviest  fear  that  possessed  his  soul,  then  going  into 
eternity,  was  his  having  confided  so  much  in  his  Grace  (meaning 
Ormond),  who  had  deceived  them  all,  and  ruined  his  poor 
country  and  countrymen.’’* 

* Dr.  French’s  Unkind  Deserter , quoted  by  Meehan. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


433 


Well  for  you,  Donogh  McCarthy ! you  who  might  have  helped 
to  make  Ireland 

“ Great,  glorious,  and  free” 

by  joining  heart  and  hand  with  the  other  chieftains  of  your  own 
blood  and  your  own  faith.  You  chose  rather  to  sell  yourself 
body  and  soul  to  James  Butler  of  Ormond,  one  of  the  bitteres-t 
enemies  of  Catholicity  that  Ireland  ever  produced,  and  so  he 
treated  you  in  the  end,  0 degenerate  son  of  the  McCarthys, 
unworthy  the  name  you  bore  ! May  Heaven  forgive  the  share 
you  had  in  the  failure  of  that  grand  attempt  to  free  Ireland  and 
her  Church  from  foreign  thrall ! 

But  in  Ulster  the  spirit  of  the  Confederation  still  lived.  There 
no  slavish  Norman  peers  threw  their  icy  shadows  athwart  the 
popular  enthusiasm — there  the  chieftains  were  still  loyally 
devoted  to  the  cause — there  the  clans  were  burning  to  rush 
again  on  the  Puritan  foe  who  had  so  often  quailed  before  them 
— there  O’Rielly  and  McMahon,  Magennis  and  O’Rourke  of 
Leitrim,  were  still  up  and  stirring,  and  there  the  Red  Hand  still 
waved  over  many  a tower  and  town.  Sir  Phelim  was  hot  as 
though  no  reverse  had  come  to  cool  his  ardor,  and  Owen  Roe 
was  as  powerful  to  do  and  dare  as  when  he  swept  Monroe’s 
proud  army  at  Benburb  like  chaff  before  the  wind.  No,  all  hope 
was  hot  lost — the  Red  Hand  still  waved  on  the  northern 
horizon  ! 

19 


434 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

“ Wail,  wail  ye  for  the  Mighty  One  ! Wail,  wail  ye  for  the  dead  ; 
Quench  the  hearth,  and  hold  the  breath — with  ashes  strew  the  head. 
How  tenderly  we  loved  him ! How  deeply  we  deplore  ! 

Holy  Saviour  ! but  to  think  we  shall  never  see  him  more. 

“ Sagest  in  the  council  was  he, — kindest  in  the  hall, 

Sure  we  never  won  a battle — ’twas  Owen  won  them  all. 

Had  he  lived — had  be  lived — our  dear  country  had  been  free  ; 

But  he’s  dead,  but  he’s  dead,  and  * tis  slaves  we’ll  ever  be. 

****** 

“ Wail,  wail  him  through  the  Island  ! Weep,  weep  for  our  pride*. 
Would  that  on  the  battle-field  our  gallant  chief  had  died ! 

Weep  the  Victor  of  Benburb — weep  him,  young  man  and  old  ; 

Weep  for  him,  ye  women— your  Beautiful  lies  cold  ! 

“ We  thought  you  would  not  die — wo  were  sure  you  would  not  go, 
And  leave  us  in  our  utmost  need  to  Cromwell’s  cruel  blow — 

Sheep  without  a shepherd,  when  the  snow  shuts  out  the  sky — 

0,  why  did  you  leave  us,  Owen  l Why  did  you  die  1 

“ Soft  as  woman’s  was  your  voice,  O’Neill ! bright  was  your  eye. 

0,  why  did  you  leave  us,  Owen  1 Why  did  you  die  1 
Your  troubles  are  all  over,  you’re  at  nest  with  God  on  high  ; 

But  we’re  slaves,  and  we’re  orphans,  Owen  ! — why  did  you  die  I” 

Thomas  Davis. 

Like  unto  these  were  the  piteous  cries  that  pierced  the  gray 
November  sky  around  Cloughoughter  Castle*  on  the  sixth  day 
of  November,  of  the  same  year  of ’49.  Along  the  lake  shore  lay 
encamped  the  main  body  of  O’Neill’s  army,  making  as  gallant  a 
show  as  it  did  on  that  day  three  years  gone  by  when  the  col- 
umns were  forming  on  the  heights  of  Benburb  under  the  eye  of 
its  valiant  chief.  There  was  none  to  take  pride  in  the  marshalled 
host  that  day  by  dull  Lough  Oughter’s  shore— mournfully 

* This  Castle,  now  a ruin,  is  situate  on  a small  islet  near  the  shore 
of  a lake  in  the  county  Cavan.  The  country  around  it  is  very  pic- 
turesque, abounding  in  wood  and  water. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


435 


drooped  the  banners  flapping  heavily  in  the  gray  damp  air — 
voiceless  was  pipe  and  drum  and  trumpet — nought  was  heard 
save  the  voice  of  human  sorrow — the  wail  that  rose  from  a thou- 
sand breaki;  g hearts. 

“ Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  of  warrior-men.”* 

And  do  wonder  the  sternest  warrior  there  “ hid  his  faoe  and 
wept,” — no  wonder — it  were  strange  if  he  did  not,  for  within 
that  gray  old  castle  of  the  O’Reillys,  there  by  the  lake  shore, 
lay  the  idolized  leader  of  the  Irish  clans — the  valiant,  the  wise, 
the  noble,  the  kind — Owen  Roe  lay  there  dead — Owen  Roe  the 
hope  of  Ireland — the  terror  of  the  Puritan  enemy — the  greatest 
captain  of  his  age — he  who  had  stood  like  some  stately  column 
firm  and  unmoved  whilst  all  around  wTas  desolation.  He  whose 
name  was  the  watchword  of  Irish  freedom, — whose  banner  was 
the  beacon  of  his  country’s  hope — Owen  Roe  was  dead . Yes  ! 

“Weep  for  him  through  the  Island  ! weep,  weep  for  our  pride  !” 

Ay  ! well  may  ye  weep,  Clan-0  wen  ! for  since  Hugh  was  laid  in 
Italian  mould  far  away  from  the  land  he  loved,  no  son  of  Nial 
has  brought  with  him  to  the  tomb  so  much  glory,  so  much  pro- 
mise, or  left  behind  him  so  drear  a void  ! Well  may  ye  weep, 
Clan-Owen  ! this  day,  for  he  that  made  your  name  glorious  is 
gone, 

“ Like  a summer-dried  fountain, 

When  your  need  was  the  sorest !’’+ 

He  that  was  wont  to  cheer  you  on  with  his  beaming  smile  and 
his  bland  sweet  voice,  he  is  gone  and  forever — never  more  shall 
you  hear  from  his  lips  those  words  that  stirred  you  up  to  deeds 
of  noblest  daring — “ sons  of  my  heart,  advance  !”  Ah ! yes,  sons 
of  his  heart  you  were — he  breathed  his  spirit  into  you,  and 
moved  you  at  will, — but  he  is  dead,  that  voice  is  hushed  forever, 
and  that  arm  that  so  often  waved  you  on  to  victory  is  stiff  now 
and'cold ! 

In  the  flower  of  his  days  the  great  chieftain  died,  and  in  the 
zenith,  too,  of  his  glory.  By  a signal  stroke  of  retribution, 
even  Ormond  himself  was  compelled  to  mourn  his  death,  and 


* Mrs.  Hemans. 


t Sir  W.  Scott. 


436 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


Preston,  and  Castleliaven,  and  all  those  unworthy  Catholics  who 
had  so  lately  conspired  against  his  life.  He  died  just  when  Crom- 
well had  been  sent  to  Ireland  by  the  Parliament  as  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant*— already  had  the  torrent  of  blood  burst  forth  from  the 
heart  of  Ireland  beneath  that  butcher’s  sword — that  torrent 
which  was  to  drench  the  land 

“ With  the  mingled  blood  of  the  brave  and  good,  of  mother,  and  maid, 
and  child.” 

The  massacre  of  Drogheda  had  reached  Owen’s  ears,  and  the 
cries  of  the  women  of  Wexford — slaughtered  by  the  tyrant’s 
orders — had  penetrated  to  his  far  northern  home  and  moved 
his  chivalrous  soul  with  pity.  He  had  vowed  to  stop  the  mur- 
derous career  of  the  regicide  in  Ireland,  or  he,  and  all  who  bore 
his  name,  should  perish.  Ormond,  baffled  at  every  turn,  strait- 
ened in  means,  and  seeing  in  the  ruthless  republican  general  a 
military  genius  of  the  highest  order,  before  whom  all  obstacles 
vanished  like  mi-t — seeing  him  sweeping  the  country  like  a 
furious  whirlwind  destroying  all  that  dared  to  oppose  him, 
Ormond  began  to  look  around  for  aid,  and  in  all  the  land  of 
Ireland  he  saw  but  one  man  whom  he  deemed  able  to  cope 
with  Cromwell.  That  man  was  Owen  Roe  O’Neill,  to  whom  he 
sent  off  without  delay,  beseeching  him  to  come  to  the  rescue, 
and  that  all  his  former  demands  should  be  conceded.  After  hold- 
ing a council  of  war,  Owen  agreed,  smiling  pleasantly  to  him- 
self at  the  thought  that  Ormond  was  humbled  indeed  when  he 
could  stoop  to  sue  so  abjectly  for  his  assistance.  It  was  hard 
to  persuade  Sir  Phelim  to  make  common  cause  with  Ormond, 
who,  according  to  him,  “ would  betray  his  old  Popish  grand- 
father, Walter  the  Rosary,  were  he  back  again  in  tho  flesh.” 
Some  of  the  other  chiefs  objected  to  the  alliance  on  various 
grounds,  but  Owen,  with  his  calm,  clear  reasoning,  speedily  con- 
vinced them  all. 

“ I have  no  more  faith  in  my  lord  of  Ormond,”  said  he,  “ tlian 
hath  any  one  here,  but  in  the  present  instance,  we  have  the 
strongest  guarantee  of  his  sincerity,  in  that  his  interest  binds 
him  to  us.  He  knows  that  this  Cromwell  is  not  a man  to  be  put 

* Lord  Ormond  still  holding  that  office  for  the  Royalist  party. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


437 


down — by  him  at  least — and  he  knows,  too,  that  all  his  courtly 
arts  of  intrigue  would  he  thrown  away  on  the  stern  ill-mannered 
Puritan  ! Believe  me,  friends  and  brothers,  Ormond  is  in  earn- 
est now  in  seeking  our  alliance,  for  on  it  his  safety  depends,  as 
he  knoweth  full  well !” 

“ Well ! well ! Owen,”  cried  Sir  Phelim,  “ have  it  your  own  way 
— for  a man  that  talks  little,  you  talk  wondrous  well— my  opinion 
is  that  you  could  coax  the  birds  off  the  bushes  had  you  no  hot- 
ter employment  for  that  oily  tongue  of  yours  !” 

Owen  Roe  smiled  and  laid  his  hand  caressingly  on  the  great 
brawny  shoulder  of  his  rough  kinsman  just  as  a keeper  of  an- 
imals would  fondle  a pet  bear.  “ It  is  easy  to  persuade  men 
like  you,  Phelim,  to  do  what  religion  and  patriotism  dictate. 
You  all  here  present  have  perceived  at  a glance  that  our  best 
chance  for  eventual  success  is  now  to  join  with  Ormond — let  us 
do  it,  then,  in  God’s  name,  for  the  sake  of  that  cause  to  which 
we  are  devoted  for  weal  or  woe.  Ormond  cannot  impose  on  us 
— we  know  him  all  too  well — but  if  by  uniting  our  forces  with 
his,  we  can  oppose  an  effectual  barrier  to  the  murderous  designs 
of  the  Parliament  of  England  and  send  back  its  psalm-singing, 
hypocritical  blood-hounds  to  hunt  down  their  employers  at 
home,  we  shall  assuredly  have  the  best  of  the  bargain.  Let  us 
once  get  rid  of  this  gloomy  regicide  Cromwell  who  esteems  the 
shedding  of  Papist  blood  nothing  more  than  a godly  pastime, 
and  we  can  easily  hold  our  own  with  the  marquis.” 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  cheerfully  adopted  by  the 
chiefs,  the  vanguard  of  the  army  was  sent  southward  imme- 
diately to  join  Ormond  and  Castlehaven,  whilst  Owen  himself 
prepared  to  follow  with  the  main  body.  His  last  charge,  to 
O’Rourke  who  commanded  the  vanguard,  was  characteristic: 

“ I have  chosen  you,  Owen^”  said  he,  “ for  this  post  of  dan- 
ger, not  because  you  are  braver,  but  because  you  are  cooler 
than  any  of  these.  Were  this  sturdy  kinsman  of  mine  somewhat 
less  fiery  than  he  is,  I would  have  sent  him  forward,  but  know- 
ing his  hot  haste  when  the  foe  is  before  him,  and  knowing,  too, 
that  Cromwell  is  the  coolest  and  most  calculating  of  generals,  I 
feared  for  my  brave  Phelim  whom  we  could  ill  afford  to  lose, 
and,  therefore,  I chose  you,  Owen  O’Rourke,  the  coolest  officor 


438 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


in  my  army.  Go  forth,  then,  in  God’s  name,  but  I charge  you, 
Owen,  avoid  an  engagement  with  this  formidable  fanatic  until 
we  come  together  again.  Keep  to  the  passes  and  defiles  and 
try  his  patience — the  winter  is  setting  in  and  it  will  befriend  us 
— by  the  time  Oliver  and  his  canting  knaves  are  getting  sick  of 
our  rain  and  sleet,  we  can  come  down  on  them  all  together  like 
a sledge  hammer.” 

What  wonder  was  it  that  even  the  rejected  Phelim,  choleric 
as  he  was,  had  nothing  to  say  in  opposition  to  this  appointment, 
whilst  the  other  chiefs,  catching  up  the  martial  fire  that  burned 
in  their  leader’s  heart  and  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  shook  off  the 
supineness  that  had  of  late  been  creeping  over  them  and  longed 
to  meet  the  tyrant  sword  in  hand. 

It  was  the  day  before  that  appointed  for  the  march  of  the 
army  and  Owen  Roe  stood  once  more  with  Judith  O’Cahan  in 
the  roofless  church  of  Dungiven  by  the  side  of  a new-made  grave 
— it  was  that  of  Father  Phelimy  who  had  been  buried  there  but 
a week  before.  At  a little  distance  from  where  they  stood  fair 
Emmeline  knelt  in  prayer,  looking  up  with  faith-inspired  eyes  at 
the  cold  blue  heavens  above  the  ruined  altar  whereon  “ the 
clean  oblation”  of  the  New  Law  had  been  made  of  old.  With 
her  exception,  there  was  no  human  being  near,  and  the  voice  of 
the  wind  and  the  roar  of  the  torrent  made  a chorus  of  unearthly 
music  in  and  around  the  ancient  church  of  the  O’Cahans.  The 
place  was  lonely,  wild  and  desolate,  yet  there  was  grandeur  in 
its  loneliness  and  utter  desertion,  and  to  souls  like  those  of  Owen 
and  Judith,  its  silence  was  eloquent  with  voices  from  the  past. 

Having  ma^  up  his  mind  to  go  south  next  day  with  the  army, 
Owen  had  journeyed  to  Dungiven  to  say  farewell- to  Judith,  and 
on  reaching  the  poor  dwelling  which  she  and  Emmeline  had  of 
late  shared  with  Father  Phelimy  he  found  in  it  only  the  aged 
crone  who  had  been  maid  of  all  work  to  the  comfortless  house- 
hold. Then  it  was  that  Owen  first  heard  of  the  old  priest’s 
death,  and  was  told  that  the  ladies  had  just  gone  to  visit  his 
grave  “in  the  church  above.” 

It  was  a strange  surprise  when  Judith  raised  her  eyes  as  she 
knelt  by  the  grave  of  her  aged  protector  to  see  General  O’Neiil 
standing  by  her  side,  looking  down  with  tearful  eyes  on  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


439 


brown  bare  heap  which  engrossed  her  own  sad  thoughts.  Em- 
meline was  there,  too,  but  she  soon  wandered  away  to  the  roof- 
less chancel  where  we  have  seen  her. 

“ So  he  is  gone,  too,”  said  Owen,  pointing  downwards  as  Ju- 
dith arose  from  her  knees. 

“ Even  so,  Owen ! those  we  loved  are  dropping  off  in  quick 
succession.” 

“ God  help  you,  Judith  ! — that  noble  heart  of  yours  is  sorely 
tried — may  their  souls  all  rest  in  peace ! I know  not  whether 
the  news  I bring  will  give  you  joy  or  sorrow — mayhap  both.” 

“ What  is  it,  I pray  you  1 Fear  not  to  speak — I can  hear 
anything.” 

Owen  then  told  her  of  his  treaty  with  Ormond,  and  ended  by 
saying  that  he  came  to  bid  her  farewell. 

“ Farewell !”  repeated  Judith  somewhat  wildly  ; “ fare-well ! 
it  is  a sad  word  over  a new-made  grave — fare-well  /”  she  said 
again,  slowly  and  abstractedly,  “ I like  not  the  word” — and 
she  shuddered. 

“ Why,  Judith,”  said  Owen  Roe  surprised  and  no  little  disap- 
pointed by  her  unwonted  dejection ; “ why,  Judith ! an  you 
speak  so  drearily,  to  whom  must  I go  for  hope,  and  faith,  and 
fervor  in  the  cause  V* 

Hearing  this,  Judith,  by  a strong  effort,  shook  off  her  strange 
depression,  and  walking  away  a few  bteps  from  the  grave  beck- 
oned Owen  to  follow.  She  then  placed  her  hand  in  his,  and 
said  with  something  like  her  former  spirit : 

“God  be  with  you,  Owen,  till  we  meet  again!  May  He 
strengthen  your  arm  and  nerve  your  soul  to  yet  more  heroic 
efforts — may  He  bless  all  who  will  go  up  with  you  to  battle 
for  His  name.  And  He  will — but — but — why  this  is  strange !” — 
she  stopped  as  if  gasping  for  breath,  and  pressed  her  hand  on 
her  bosom — “ there  is  something  wrong  here — here.  Ah'  Owen, 
there  is  a weight  on  my  heart — beware  of  Ormond,  Owen ! his 
duplicity  is  well  nigh  as  dangerous  as  Cromwell’s  sword ” 

“ With^aid  from  above,  Judith,”  said  O'Neill,  “ I fear  neither 
one  nor  the  other.  Be  you  but  of  good  heart  and  pray  for  our 
success — Emmeiine  too,”  as  that  lady  approached  them,  “in 
the  silence  aud  solitude  of  this  ruined  fane,  with  the  dead  he* 


440 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


roes  of  your  race  around  you,  invoke  the  God  of  battles  for  us. 
A fierce  struggle  is  before  us,  Judith,  my  best  beloved! — the 
might  of  England  is  now  indeed  to  be  arrayed  against  us,  and 
Cromwell  and  Ireton  are  just  the  men  to  carry  out  the  designs 
of  the  fanatics  in  our  regard.  An’  we  fail  now,  Judith” — he 
paused  and  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face  as  though  to  read 
the  depth  of  her  soul,  if  perchance  any  sad  foreboding  lurked 
there — u an'  we  fail,  Judith" — he  repeated  slowly. 

“ An’  you  fail,”  said  Judith  with  a shudder,  her  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion,  “ Heaven  help  the  children  of  the  Gael,  for 
your  past  triumphs  will  but  whet  the  sword  of  Cromwell : failure 
now  were  ruin!” 

“Your  thought  is  mine,”  said  Owen  with  a bright  look  of 
affection;  “bless  you,  Judith,  bless  you!  and  may  Mary  our 
Mother  shield  vou  from  harm  ! should  we  meet  no  more,  pulse 
of  my  heart ! I would  have  you  demand  protection,  both  you  and 
Emmeline,  from  the  Marchioness  of  Ormond.  She  hath  a noble 
spirit,  and  will  compassionate  your  forlorn  state ” 

“ Heaven  bless  her  ! I know  it  well,”  said  Emmeline,  “ and 
yet  methinks  I would  be  hard  driven  for  shelter  when  I applied 
to  her  after  my  open  abandonment  of  home  and  early  friends. 
Rather  a thousand  times  for  me  a nook  in  some  desolate  ruin 
where  the  short  remnant  of  our  days  might  be  passed  in  peace.” 

“ And  for  me,”  said  Judith  drawing  herself  up,  “ my  father’s 
daughter  were  brought  lower  than  she  ever  will  be  when  she 
humbled  herself  before  Elizabeth  Preston,  the  wife  of  a man 
whose  intrigues  have  ruined  our  cause — or  at  least  broken  up  the 
Confederation.  I little  expected,  Owen  O’Neill ! to  hear  such  coun 
sel  from  your  lips.  No,  if  God  willed  that  you  should  fall — which 
I will  not,  cannot,  dare  not  think — Emmeline  and  myself  must 
take  our  chance  with  the  Catholic  daughters  of  this  land.  Be 
not  troubled  on  our  account,  Owen,”  she  added  in  a softened 
tone  as  she  met  his  reproachful  eye,  “ we  have  a good  Father  to 
protect  us,  and  a Mother,  too — and  you  will  be  back  to  us, 
Owen ! your  brow  wweathed  with  laurels — surely,  sorely  you 
will ! you  have  ever  conquered — you  must  conquer  now,  for 
there  is  only  you  fit  to  measure  swords  with  Cromwell,  and  your 
defeat  by  him  would  leave  our  poor  country  at  bis  feet  heart- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


441 


broken  and  helpless — oh,  God ! I will  not,  must  not  think  of  it !” 
“ And  that  reminds  me,  dear  one  !”  said  Owen  sadly,  yet  with 
kindling  enthusiasm,  “ that  while  I stand  here  forgetting  all 
but  the  happiness  of  seeing  you,  the  horrors  of  Drogheda  or  of 
Wexford  may  be  renewed.  Judith ! stay  of  my  life ! I must  say 
farewell !” 

He  took  the  hand  which  she  freely  gave,  but  it  was  cold, 
cold  as  ice,  and  her  face  was  bloodless  as  that  of  a corpse.  Her 
eyes,  too,  when  she  raised  them  to  Owen’s  face,  had  a wild, 
haggard  look  in  them  which  made  the  chieftain  tremble,  brave 
and  fearless  as  he  was.  Twice  the  thin  pale  lips  parted  and 
Judith  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  they  closed  again  with  a 
convulsive  motion,  and  only  for  the  restless  glance  of  the  spirit- 
like eyes,  the  face  would  have  been  rigid  as  one  of  marble. 

“Judith!”  said  Owen  at  length,  “ I can  stand  this  no  longer 
— speak  but  a word — a word  of  benediction — and  I am  gone!” 
Slowly  the  pale  lips  opened  again,  and  a heavy  sigh  came  forth, 
and  then  whispered  words  that  sounded  like,  “ Oh,  my  country !” 
and  then  the  blood  rushed  to  the  pale  cheek,  and  Judith  beat 
down  into  her  heart  the  dark  presentiment  that  had  for  a 
moment  overcome  her,  and  she  said  in  her  own  clear,  musical 
voice : 

“Go,  then,  Owen! — your  suffering  country  calls — religion 
commands — what  are  Judith’s  wishes,  Judith’s  womanish  fears'? 
With  the  blood  of  heroes  in  my  veins — ay  ! even  the  blood  of 
Cooey-na-gall , how  can  I yield  to  puerile  weakne  s 1 Go  forth 
to  conquer,  sword  of  the  Gael ! — lead  the  clans  to  battle  as 
before,  and  the  host  of  heaven  will  aid  you  !” 

“ There  spoke  my  own  chosen  one,”  said  Owen  cheerfully  ; 
“ now  can  I set  forth  with  a hopeful  and  right  good  heart,  but 
your  sadness  weighed  on  me  like  lead — God  in  heaven  be  your 

safeguard  till  I return,  and  then,  Judith ” 

“Then,  Owen!  if  you  have  prevailed  over  Cromwell,  the 
Church  will  have  peace  and  the  country  rest, — the  hero  of  a 
hundred  fights  may  well  look  forward  to  the  poor  reward  of 
Judith’s  dowerless  hand.” 

“ Enough  ! I desire  no  more — farewell ! Judith  ! — if  I live, 
Drogheda  and  Wexford  shall  not  go  unrevenged — Cromwell  and 


442 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


myself  shall  soon  come  together — the  shock  of  our  meeting 
will  make  the  island  quake,  and  one  or  the  othor  of  us  will  be 
dashed  to  pieces — but  for  God  and  my  right  I tear  not  to  face 
him  were  he  an  hundred  king-killers ! Emmeline ! child  of  our 
adoption,  my  blessing  be  upon  you — should  the  day  of  my  hap- 
piness ever  come,  Judith’s  home  and  mine  shall  be  yours — weep 
not,  fair  maiden!  this  is  no  time  for  tears — see!  Judith  hath 
none  to  give ’ 

The  words  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  he  moved  away  abruptly. 
Emmeline  caught  his  cloak  and  when  he  turned  back  looked 
timidly  up  into  his  face. 

“ What  would  you,  Emmeline  said  the  chief. 

“ A word — -just  a word.  In  the  storm  of  battle  you  may  meet 
Sir  Charles  Coote — dare  I ask  you  to  spare  his  life  should  you 
have  the  power ” 

O’Neill  frowned.  “ No,  Emmeline,  not  even  to  you  can  I 
make  such  a promise — it  were  a cruel  betrayal  of  my  own  peo- 
ple to  spare  one  of  the  Cootes  in  battle ” 

“ Oh  ! say  not  so,  General  O’Neill ! say  not  so,  I implore  you  ! 
— it  is  for  my  mother’s  sake  not  for  his — bad  as  he  is  I can  for- 
give him  now  through  divine  grace,  but  I would  not  ask  you  to 
spare  the  life  of  such  as  he  were  it  not  for  the  mother  that  bore 
him  and  me — and — and — his  wretched  soul ” 

“ Fair  Mistress  Emmeline  ! I may  never  have  the  opportunity 
you  speak  of — but  if  I had — -justice  would  demand  its  victim  at 
my  hand.  No  more — no  more — farewell! — Judith!  I will  live 
on  the  hope  of  our  next  meeting!”  4 

“ It  will  be  in  heaven  !”  said  Judith  half  aloud,  as  she  stood 
leaning  against  the  dilapidated  wall  and  watched  him  mounting 
his  war- steed.  Ouce  again  the  chieftain  turned,  and  smiled  a 
fond  farewell  as  he  met  Judith’s  glance,  then  spurred  his  pranc- 
ing steed  and  cantered  down  the  slope.  Did  he  murmur  to 
himself  like  Roderick  Dhu  leaving  ElleL  Douglas  : 

“It  is  the  last  time — ’tis  the  last,  that  angel  voice  shall  Roderick 
hear  ?” 

Not  so,  for  no  dark  misgiving  weighed  on  Owen’s  heart. 
Health  glowed  on  his  cheek,  life  was  coursing  warm  and  ardent 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


443 


through  his  veins — how  could  he  think  of  death  being  at  hand  % 

1 The  sense  of  right  and  the  power  to  smite  are  the  spirit  that 
commands.” 

Was  not  this  spirit  his  7 True,  Cromwell  was  no  ordinary- 
adversary — true,  his  legions  were  full  of  his  own  fanatical  spirit, 
and  every  man  was  inflamed  with  his  leader’s  thirst  for  Papist 
blood — but  Owen  Roe  was  as  strong,  and  as  valiant,  and  as  wise, 
as  when  he  conquered  at  Benburb — his  army  was  the  same  that 
had  swept  Monroe’s  battalions  into  the  Black  water — their  hearts 
clung  around  him  as  ivy  round  the  oak — the  blessing  of  the 
Pontiff  was  on  their  arms — why  should  he  fear  that  ultimate, 
nay,  immediate,  success  would  crown  their  heroic  efforts  7 

Words  cannot  describe  the  enthusiasm  of  that  gallant  army 
when  Owen  placed  himself  again  at  its  head.  What  was  the 
terror  of  Cromwell’s  army  to  men  who  marched  under  the 
banner  of  Owen  Roe  O’Neill,  that  glorious  banner  with  the  cross 
and  keys  interwoven  with  the  Red  Hand  on  its  snowy  surface  7 
The  more  danger  the  more  honor,  and  the  more  terrible  the 
advancing  foe  the  greater  need  of  stopping  his  course.  Pear 
indeed,  had  no  place  in  their  hearts — 

“High,  high  are  their  hopes,  for  their  chieftain  has  said 
ThaD  whatever  men  dare  they  can  do. 

* * * # * 

And  proudly  they  follow  that  chief  to  the  field 
Where  their  laurels  were  gather’d  before.’  * 

Great  Heavens ! the  first  day’s  march  was  not  completed  when 
the  general  was  seized  with  a sudden  and  violent  disease  which 
rendered  him  unable  to  keep  his  seat  on  horseback.f  Struck 

* Scotch  ballad. 

+ This  sudden  and  fatal  illness  of  Owen  Roe  at  such  a critical 
juncture  is  very  generally  attributed  to  poison — a pair  of  poisoned 
hoots,  some  will  have  it,  which  caused  a defluxion  of  blood  from  the 
knees.  Whether  it  be  so  or  not,  God  alone  knows.  It  is  probably 
one  of  those  historical  secrets  which  man  can  never  fathom,  and  on 
which  the  shroud  of  mystery  will  for  ever  rest.  One  thing  is  certain, 
that  it  was  the  current  belief  at  the  time  that  poison  had  been 
administered,  and  various  parties  were  suspected  of  the  heinous 
deed.  It  were  worse  than  useless  now  to  mention  these  names,  some 


444 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


with  terror  and  consternation  the  whole  army  came  to  a stand 
■ — Bishop  McMahon  and  the  chiefs  would  fain  persuade  the 
general  to  send  forward  the  army  and  remain  behind,  but  of 
this  Owen  would  not  hear — whilst  God  spared  him  life  he  would 
go  with  his  men — what  would  they  do  without  him  ? Besides, 
his  illness  could  not  last  long. 

“ Not  as  it  is  now,”  said  the  bishop  significantly  to  the  chiefs 
who  stood  around  in  speechless  terror ; “ an’  it  continue  so,  it 
will  soon  end ” 

“For  the  love  of  God,  my  lord,  don’t  say  that!”  whispered 
Sir  Phelim  in  a broken  voice,  and  stooping  down  he  said 
anxiously : 

“ How  are  you  now,  Owen  ? ” 

“ Much  the  same,  Phelim,  much  the  same — I’ll  be  better 
soon,  however — with  the  help  of  God” — then  turning  suddenly 
to  the  bishop  he  asked : 

“Are  they  getting  that  litter  ready  for  me?  I depend  on 
your  lordship  to  hurry  them.” 

“ My  dear  son,”  said  the  bishop,  “ make  your  mind  easy — 
better  wait  a day  or  two  till  you  are  over  the  worst ” 

“ My  lord  of  Clogher,”  said  the  chieftain  raising  himself  on 
his  elbow,  “ how  can  you  talk  of  a day  or  two,  when  there  is 
question  of  meeting  Oliver  Cromwell — you  know  the  stern  ne- 
cessity that  doth  urge  us  on  !” 

“ I know,  my  son,  I know,  but — but ” 

“ But  what — I pray  your  lordship  say  it  out — be  it  what  it 
may — I am  not  the  man,  I thank  my  God,  to  shrink  from  pain 
or  sickness ” 

“ Ay,  but,  Owen — there  be  worse  than  pain  or  sickness ” 

“ Humph !”  said  Owen  contemptuously,  “ you  would  not 
have  me  think  that  there  is  danger  of  death — I have  been  sick 
ere  now.” 

“Not  with  such  sickness  as  this.  Owen,  Owen,  be  persuaded 
— let  the  army  march  on  with  McMahon,  and  O’Kielly,  and  Sir 
Phelim,  if  you  will — let  all  go,  but  myself ” 

of  them  still  holding  high  position  in  Ireland.  It  is  also  certain, 
that  the  voioo  of  tradition  invariably  asoribes  this  disastrous  event  to 
poison. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


445 


“ And  wherefore  yon,  my  lord  V ’ 

“ I — I — am  a skilful  nurse,  Owen,  and,  moreover,  somewhat 
of  a leech ” 

Owen  smiled  and  muttered  strangely  to  himself,  then  suddenly 
starting  with  renewed  animation,  gave  positive  orders  for  the 
litter  to  he  made  ready,  alleging  that  he  felt  much  better  even 
as  it  was,  and  to  move  again  at  the  head  of  his  army  would 
speedily  restore  him  to  health. 

His  wishes  were  obeyed,  and  Owen  Roe  was  carried  to  the 
front  amid  the  deafening  cheers  of  his  faithful  followers.  On 
one  side  of  the  litter  rode  the  bishop  and  Sir  Phelim,  on  the 
other,  McMahon  and  O’Rielly,  while  Sir  Con  Magennis  and 
O’Rourke  of  BrefFny  followed  close  behind.  Oh ! how  fervent 
were  the  prayers  put  up  by  each  in  his  own  heart  for  the  pre- 
servation of  that  precious  life,  so  all-important  in  that  hour! 
The  fear  that  was  gathering  in  raven  darkness  over  them  all, 
no  one  dared  to  communicate— they  even  shrank  from  meeting 
each  other’s  eyes,  but  rode  on  silently,  wrapt  in  gloomy  thought. 
And  still  the  general’s  voice  was  heard  at  intervals  urging  bis 
officers  to  speed  the  army  on.  Nevertheless,  his  sufferings 
increased  to  such  a degree  in  consequence  of  the  motion  of  the 
litter,  that  he  was  obliged  to  give  in  at  last. 

“ I can  go  no  farther,”  said  he  ; “ God’s  will  be  done  !” 

It  so  happened  that  they  were  then  within  sight  of  the  gray 
waters  of  Lough  Oughter,  where  O’Reilly’s  old  Castle  looked 
down  in  sullen  grandeur  on  the  wintry  flood.  On  being  told  of 
this,  Owen  Roe  smiled  sadly. 

“ Here,  then,  will  I rest-  Beneath  the  roof-tree  of  O’Reilly, 
I can  lay  down  my  head  in  peace.” 

At  his  own  urgent  request,  the  last  Sacraments  were  admin- 
istered without  delay. 

“ Lose  not  a moment,  my  dear  lord  !”  he  said  to  the  bishop 
in  a failing  voice ; “ that  is  the  only  affair  that  imports  me  now 
— my  heart  is  breaking  for  the  woes  of  Ireland,  but  I cannot 
serve  her  now — my  own  soul — eternity — death — judgment — 
haste,  my  lord ! lest  I go  forth  unshriven  on  my  long  journey !” 

With  a heavy  heart  Bishop  McMahon  set  about  his  doleful 
task,  and  when  all  his  spiritual  wants  were  supplied,  the  chief- 


446 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


tain  rallied  for  a short  time.  He  conversed  calmly  with  his 
friends  on  the  affairs  of  the  country,  advised  them  as  to  the 
prosecution  of  the  war,  and  charged  Sir  Phelim  to  keep  the 
Red  Hand  afloat  as  long  as  there  wTas  the  slightest  possibility  of 
success. 

“ Now,  Phelim,”  said  he  with  startling  energy,  “ may  I depend 
on  you1?  So  long  as  the  Red  Hand  of  Tyr-Owen  is  up,  the 
clans  of  the  north  will  rally  around  it — you  know  that,  Son  of 
the  Hy-Nial — there  is  hut  you  now  to  keep  the  old  flag  unfurled 
— will  you  do  it,  Phelim  ! for  God  and  our  bleeding  country  I — 
will  you  fight  manfully  to  the  last,  nor  give  in  while  a chance  of 
success  remains 

“ I will,  Owen — brother  of  my  heart,  I will !”  said  poor 
Phelim,  bursting  into  tears  like  a very  child.  “ So  help  me 
God,  I will!  The  Red  Hand  shall  never  be  furled  whilst  I live, 
unless  our  lawful  demands  are  conceded.” 

“ It  is  well,  Phelim  ! give  me  your  hand  on  that !”  Sir  Phelim 
did,  but  at  the  touch  of  Owen’s  hand  his  grief  burst  forth  anew, 
for  it  was  already  clammy  and  cold. 

“ Oh ! the  villains  ! the  cowrardly,  black-hearted  villains  !”  cried 
the  knight  waxing  furious  at  the  thought  of  what  had  caused 
this  so  dire  calamity ; “ they  couldn’t  conquer  you  by  fair  means, 
so  they  must  needs ” 

“ Don’t  say  it,  Phelim  !”  said  the  dying  chieftain  ; “ it  mat- 
ters little  how  my  death  cometh,  so  long  as  it  is  come.  We 
have  no  certainty  touching  the  poison,  and  it  is  a fearful  crime 
wherewith  to  brand  any  man — yet  it  is  none  too  black  for  my 
enemies,”  he  said  musingly  ; “ it  may  wTell  be  so — but  even  an’ 
it  were,  chieftains  of  the  Gael ! I charge  ye  let  the  matter 
rest.  We  have  no  proof,  I say  again,  as  to  who  is  the  culprit — 
if  one  there  be — as  my  God  shall  judge  me,  then,  I desire  to  die 
in  peace  with  all  men,  in  that  I bear  no  ill-will  to  any  for  this 
thing,  or,  indeed,  for  any  other  matter  of  a personal  nature.  I 
fought  while  I was  able,  and  would  fight  again,  for  the  sacred 
rights  of  my  country  and  religion — and  my  heavy  grief  is  now 
that  I die  when  my  services  are  most  needed — but  private  malice 
bear  I none,  for  which  blessing  I thank  my  God.” 

Some  of  the  chiefs  conversing  together  in  low  whispers,  the 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


447 


name  of  Preston  caught  Owen’s  ear,  whereupon  he  turned  his 
head  quickly  and  said  with  surprising  energy  : 

“ Who  talks  of  Preston  1 Be  his  name  unnamed  here  ! He 
hath  much  to  answer  for  in  regard  to  our  common  cause — he 
hath  done  Ormond’s  work  not  ours — so  have  all  the  Norman 
lords  and  gentlemen — all — all — may  God  forgive  them  is  my 
dying  prayer — but  let  no  man  name  Thomas  Preston  in  connec- 
tion with  my  death — name  no  names,  once  more  I tell  you ! I 
would  speak  with  Donogh  the  Rapparee,  in  private.” 

What  passed  between  the  two,  the  chiefs  could  but  guess,  but 
Donogh  remained  by  the  bed-side  until  the  last  struggle  was 
over.  The  brave  fellow  was  so  overcome  with  sorrow  that  he  only 
roused  himself  from  his  stupor  when  Owen  spoke  to  him,  as  he 
often  did,  and  then  he  bent  over  him  to  catch  the  faintly  breathed 
words  of  love  and  pity  to  be  wafted  to  Judith  when  he  was  no 
more.  “ My  peerless  love — spouse  I may  well  call  her — the 
lone  mourner  in  far  D ungiven — the  winter-winds  sighed  when  I 
bade  her  farewell,  and  there  was  death  between  us,  Donogh ! 
She  felt  it,  though  I did  not.  Tell  her  I blessed  her  with  my 
dying  breath — and  mind,  Donogh,  charge  her  by  the  love  I bore 
her  to  leave  this  land  at  once  with  Emmeline — the  money  I 
gave  you  will  suffice  to  take  them  to  France  or  Spain — tell  her 
there  is  a fearful  time  coming — she  must  go  hence,  Donogh  ! 
and  you  must  go  to  watch  over  her — for  my  sake  you  will — I 
know  you  will !” 

The  loud  wailing  of  the  soldiers  without  breaking  sud- 
denly on  his  ear,  Owen  started  from  a heavy  trance-like  slumber, 
and  a groan  of  anguish  burst  from  his  heart.  “ My  brave 
fellows !”  he  murmured,  “ Heaven  help  you  all  this  day ! Never 
again  will  Owen  Roe  lead  you  on  to  victory  ! Well  may  ye 
weep,  for  I loved  ye  well — proud  I was  of  you — and  good  reason 
I had.” 

Calling  to  him  Bishop  McMahon  he  then  begged  him  to  give 
his  blessing  to  all  his  soldiers  and  his  thanks  for  their  faithful 
service — he  also  charged  them  to  follow  the  standard  of  Sir 
Phelim  O’Neill,  on  whom  the  chief  command  devolved. 

Having  taken  leave  of  the  sorrowing  friends  who  surrounded 
his  bed,  and  of  all  the  officers  of  his  army,  Owen  closed  his  eyes 


448 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


in  what  seemed  at  first  the  sleep  of  death.  But  just  as  the 
bishop  was  about  to  commence  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  his 
lips  were  seen  to  move,  and  like  low,  faint  music  words  came 
forth : 

“ Benburb  ! — Rinuccini ! — Rome  ! — Ireland ! — I could  do  no 
more.  Sweet  Jesus  ! mercy  ! — Mary ! receive  thy  child ” 

A shudder,  a long  heavy  sigh,  and  the  noblest  of  Ireland’s 
sons  had  ceased  to  breathe — the  Fabius  of  his  country — the 
sword  of  the  Gael — Owen  Roe  wa*s  dead. 

Weep,  Ireland,  weep ! — your  hero,  your  pride  is  gone,  and 
ages  may  roll  away  before  you  look  upon  his  like  again.  The 
greatest,  the  bravest,  the  wisest  of  your  Confederate  Chief- 
tains lies  stark  and  cold  in  that  desolate  castle  on  Lough 
Oughter’s  shore ! 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


449 


CONCLUSION. 

“ ’Tis  come—  their  hour  of  martyrdom 
In  Iran’s  sacred  cause  is  come  ; 

And  though  their  life  hath  pass’d  away 
Like  lightning  on  a stormy  day, 

Yet  shall  their  death-hour  leave  a track 
Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 

To  which  the  brave  of  after-times, 

The  suff’ring  brave  shall  long  look  back 
With  proud  regret,  and  by  its  light 
Watch  thro’  the  hours  of  slavery’s  nigh 
For  vengeance  on  th’  oppressor’s  crimes.” 

Moore’s  Lalla  Rookk. 


Yes,  so  it  was!  whilst  the  banners  he  had  so  gloriously  won 
at  Benburb  were  waving  in  triumph  in  an  old  fane  of  the  Eter- 
nal City,*  Owen  Roe  was  stricken  down, 

“ And  he  died  at  Lough  Oughter  upon  St.  Leonard’s  Day.” 

“He  died,  and  took  with  him  to  his  grave  the  lingering  hopes  of 
Irish  independence.”  He  died  and  left  Ireland  in  her  greatest 
need,  with  Cromwell  and  his  Ironsidesf  already  sweeping  the 
land  like  the  red  thunderbolt  charged  with  death. 

Of  the  noble  northern  army,  some  few  officers  joined  Ormond 
with  the  men  under  their  command,  chiefly  because  it  had  been 
the  last  move  of  Owen  Roe  to  effect  a junction  with  that  “ slip- 
pery politician some  other  battalions  broke  up  or  scattered 
away  over  the  country  in  search  of  homes,  but  the  greater  por- 
tion kept  together  under  the  command  of  Sir  Phelim  0 Neill. 
Most  of  the  veterans  who  had  shared  Owen  Roe’s  victorious 

* Rinuceini  had  sent  the  banners  to  Rome  where  they  were  received 
with  great  rejoicing,  and  the  Holy  Father  himself  assisted  at  the  Te 
Deum  sung  in  honor  of  the  victory  of  Benburb. 

t By  this  characteristic  name  Oliver  was  wont  to  address  his  sol- 
diers. 


450 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


career,  and  the  Kinel-Owen  to  a man,  still  gathered  around  their 
ancient  standard,  and  to  do  Sir  Phelim  justice,  he  bore  it 
bravely  and  steadily  as  became  the  head  of  the  Hy-Nial  race. 
For  three  long  years  did  he  keep  that  flag  afloat,  his  chance  of 
success  diminishing  month  by  month  and  year  by  year,  manoeuv- 
ring so  as  to  elude  the  Puritans  where  their  strength  was  far 
beyond  his  own,  and  giving  them  battle  where  there  was  even 
a chance  of  success.  He  had  learned  a lesson  from  his  illus- 
trious kinsman,  and  displayed  during  that  trying  and  perilous 
time  a coolness'  and  tact  little  to  be  expected  from  his  natural 
character.  During  those  three  years  of  bloody  and  unequal 
contest,  when  the  clans  of  Ulster  were  struggling,  not  alone  for 
freedom,  but  for  life  itself,  some  feats  of  chivalric  bravery  were 
performed  not  unworthy  of  the  heroes  of  ancient  story.  On 
the  hill  of  TullymaDgan,  in  their  own  border- country,  the  sons 
of  Breffuy-O'Reilly  met  and  defeated  the  iron  warriors  of 
Cromwell,  reviving  for  a moment  the  fading  memory  of  Benburb, 
and  adding  another  bright  name  to  the  records  of  Irish  valor. 
In  the  south  and  west,  the  native  tribes  everywhere  made  a gal- 
lant resistance  to  the  terrible  power  of  Cromwell.  In  some 
places  they  refused  to  receive  assistance  from  Lord  Ormond, 
preferring  rather  to  take  their  chance  in  opposing  the  Puritans 
single-handed  rather  than  have  any  connection  with  a man 
whom  they  knew  to  be  at  heart  their  bitter  enemy.  This  was 
especially  the  case  in  Waterford,  Limerick,  and  Clonmel.  The 
former  city  was  besieged  by  Cromwell  himself,  but  the  heroic  gar- 
rison, commanded  by  General  Farrel,  defended  the  town  with  such 
determined  bravery  that  the  tyrant  was  forced  to  retreat  with 
loss,  leaving  to  the  citizens  that  proud  motto  which  has  ever 
since  graced  their  arms : Urbs  Intacta — the  Unconquered  City. 
Clonmel  was  defended  with  equal  success  by  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred Ulstermen  under  Hugh  O’Neill,*  a nephew  of  Owen  Roe, 
who  had  come  over  from  the  Continent  a short  time  before. 
The  brief  career  of  this  gallant  young  officer,  during  the  bloody 

* This  defenee  of  Clonmel  by  Hugh  O’Neill  is  equal  to  anything  of 
the  kind  on  record.  It  forms,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  memorable 
events  of  the  eleven  years’  war. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


451 


days  of  Cromwell,  form  another  glorious  page  in  the  Annals  of 
the  princely  O’Neills,  and  it  must  have  gladdened  the  stout 
heart  of  Sir  Phelim  to  find  his  own  efforts  in  the  north  so  nobly 
seconded  by  another  champion  of  the  Red  Hand. 

These  were  truly  “ the  days  that  tried  men’s  souls.”  Limerick, 
like  Clonmel  and  Waterford,  would  have  baffled  the  efforts  of 
Cromwell,  for  Hugh  O’Neill  was  within  its  walls,  and  the  towns- 
men fought  like  heroes,  but  treachery  undid  their  work.  A cer- 
tain Colonel  Fennel  was  there,  who  betrayed  the  city  to  Ireton. 
It  is  true  the  plague  was  raging  within  the  walls,  but  more  fatal 
was  the  treachery  of  Fennel.*  He  had  twice  before  betrayed  the 
Catholic  party,  viz.,  at  Killaloe  and  at  Youghal,  but  Ireton,  to 
his  honor  be  it  said,  gave  the  traitor  his  deserts.  “ It  is  satisfac- 
tory to  know,”  says  a Protestant  historian,  “ that  of  the  24  per- 
sons excepted  from  pardon,  by  way  of  example,  upon  this  occa- 
sion, one  of  the  first  led  out  to  execution  was  this  infamous 
traitor.”f  But  alas  ! from  the  same  gibbet  hung  the  heroic  Bi- 
shop of  Emly,  Terence  Albert  O’Brien,  executed  for  his  noble 
defence  of  the  city  in  conjunction  with  Hugh  O’Neill.  Forever 
memorable  is  the  prediction  made  by  this  venerable  soldier  of 
Christ  when,  Ireton  having  passed  sentence  of  death  upon  him, 
he  summoned  that  ruthless  tyrant  to  meet  him  at  the  bar  of  di- 
vine justice  in  the  space  of  three  days.  The  haughty  Puritan 
laughed  his  words  to  scorn,  but  he  found  them  true  to  his  cost, 
for  the  plague  that  was  decimating  the  citizens,  laid  hold  on  his 
iron  frame,  and  he  was  dead  at  the  time  specified  by  the  mar- 
tyred prelate. 

In  those  days,  too,  died  Heber  McMahon,  the  illustrious  Bishop 
of  Clogher,  the  friend  of  Owen  Roe  and  Rinuccini,  and  Nicholas 
French.  His  end  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  two  prelates  just 
mentioned.  After  maintaining,  in  conjunction  with  Sir  Phelim 
O'Neill,  the  struggle  for  freedom  in  Ulster,  until  every  hope  of 
success  had  well  nigh  vanished,  displaying  in  his  military  career 

* It  seems  very  probable  that  this  unprincipled  wretch  was  the 
very  same  Colonel  Fennel  who  was  branded  by  Owen  Roe  as  “the 
cowardly  cock  with  the  feather.” 

t Smith’s  Ireland , Yol.  II.,  p.  62. 


452 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


so  many  noble  qualities  and  varied  abilities  as  to  command  the 
respect  of  all  parties,*  he  was  captured  by  a certain  Major  King 
of  Coote’s  division,  and  hanged  by  order  of  that  savage  general, 
the  worthy  son  of  his  father  ! The  patriot  prelate  had  been  de- 
feated in  a bloody  engagement  but  the  day  previous,  the  victory 
being  entirely  owing  to  the  enemy’s  superior  cavalry.  When 
attacked  he  had  with  him  only  a small  party  of  horse — “ he  de- 
fended himself  with  heroic  bravery,”  says  a Protestant  writer 
of  our  own  day,  “ and  it  was  not  till  after  he  wras  disabled  by 
numerous  wounds  that  he  was  taken  prisoner.”  f Yet  they 
hung  that  heroic  bishop,  that  great  and  gifted  man ! 

Oh ! the  nobleness  of  such  a life,  and  the  glory  of  such  an 
end ! If  the  Maguires  have  their  Connor  and  their  Roderick  to 
boast  of  well  may  the  McMahons  exult  in  the  name  of  Heber  ! 
Malachy  O'Kelly,  Terence  Albert  O'Brien,  Boetius  McEgan  and 
Heber  McMahon,  illustrious  martyrs  to  Ireland’s  faith  and  Ire- 
land’s freedom,  the  world  has  never  seen  men  of  greater  worth, 
or  of  loftier  souls,  or  more  fervid  zeal  for  the  faith  of  Christ ! 
An  Archbishop  and  three  bishops  martyred  for  justice’  sake! 
Oh ! Church  of  Ireland ! venerable  Mother  of  Saints ! for  thee 
they  suffered,  fought  and  died  ! may  thy  children  never  forget 
the  honor  due  to  their  thrice-hallowed  names  ! 

Meanwhile,  Preston  and  Castlehavenj:  had  betaken  them- 
selves beyond  seas — the  latter,  indeed,  long  before  the  death  of 
Owen  Roe,  and  was  doing  amateur  fighting  in  France  during 
the  war  of  the  League,  whilst  the  priests  and  prelates  of  Ireland 
were  in  battle-harness  for  the  faith.  Mountgarret,  old  and 
broken  in  spirit,  died  a contrite  and  humble  man  in  one  of  his 
own  castles  near  Kilkenny,  and  those  who  visit  the  Cathedral 
of  St.  Canice  may  see  in  the  nave  thereof  a stately  monument 

* He  discharged  hia  new  functions  with  vigor  and  skill,  against  the 
Parliamentary  troops,  which  he  contrived  to  annoy  in  every  quarter 
ot  the  Province,  by  skirmishing  parties  of  all  dimensions.— ‘Wills' 
Illustrious  and  Distinguished  Irishmen , Yol.  IV.,  p.  183. 

t Ibid . 

$ “Since  the  rebellion  of  1641,”  says  he  in  his  Memoirs,  “ I had 
nothing  but  war  and  trouble,  until  the  peace  of  1646.  Then  I went 
for  France.”  Oh ! chivalrous  and  patriotic  Castlehaven  ! 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


453 


to  the  memory  of  Richard,  third  Viscount  Mountgarret , obit 
A.  D.  1651.  In  the  south  transept  of  that  same  venerable  edi- 
fice there  is  another  tomb  far  more  interesting  to  the  Catholic 
or  the  patriot.  It  is  that  of  David  Rothe,  the  learned,  and  zeal- 
ous, and  patriotic  Bishop  of  Ossory  in  the  stormy  days  of  the 
Confederation — the  aged  prelate  whom  we  have  seen  sharing  so 
largely  in  the  toils  and  cares,  and  also  in  the  glories  of  that 
legislative  body  which  for  a brief  space — alas!  too  brief! — 
swayed  the  destinies  of  Ireland.  Norman  by  blood,  he  was  Irish 
in  heart,  and  labored  with  all  the  might  that  was  in  him  to  effect 
the  liberation  of  his  native  land,  and  the  restoration  of  her 
ancient  worship.  Peace  be  with  thee,  David  Rothe!  simple, 
guileless  soul,  patriarch  of  the  Confederation ! may  thy  glory  in 
heaven  be  commensurate  with  thy  good  deeds ! 

All  this  time  Ormond  had  been  intriguing  with  one  party  and 
another  in  the  vain  hope  of  recovering  that  power  which  had 
passed  from  his  hand  for  ever.  When  all  else  failed  him,  the 
baffled  politician  was  fain  to  have  recourse  to  the  prelates  of  the 
national  party,  that  is  to  say,  those  who  had  been  the  supporters 
of  Rinuccini  and  of  Owen  Roe.  But  they  knew  him  too  well 
to  trust  him  then  with  the  bitter  experience  of  a ten  years’ 
fruitless  struggle  weighing  on  their  minds.  The  Catholic  pre 
lates  of  Ireland  could  only  see  in  Ormond  the  main  cause  of 
the  ruin  which  had  come  upon  their  noble  Confederation,  and 
they  knew  it  was  his  pressing  necessities  which  induced  him  to 
make  any  advances  to  them.  They  saw  in  him  the  founder 
and  protector  of  Protestant  ascendancy,*  the  man  who  had 
never  conceded  any  measure  of  justice  to  Catholics  when  he 
had  the  power,  and  the  man,  too,  whose  insidious  counsels  had, 
in  all  probability,  kept  up  the  breach  between  the  ill-fated  sov- 
ereign who  trusted  him  so  blindly,  and  the  Catholic  subjects 
who  would  have  been  his  most  faithful  and  devoted  adherents. 
The  prelates  rejected  with  scorn  the  overtures  of  the  once-pow- 

* The  Irish  fabric  of  Protestant  ascendanoy  in  Church,  State,  and 
property,  was  thus  mainly  raised  by  James  Butler,  twelfth  Earl,  and 
first  Duke  of  Ormond— a fatal  labor  preceded  by  one  civil  war,  and 
followed  by  another. — Smith’s  Ireland , Yol.  II , p 95. 


454 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


erful  dictator  of  Ireland,  and  the  consequence  was  thai  Ormond, 
having  no  other  move  to  make,  was  forced  to  leave  the  country 
in  company  with  Lord  Inchiqnin,  whose  troops  had  mutinied 
and  left  him  without  a man  to  command.  Admirable  compa- 
nionship in  ignoble  flight  ! James  Butler  of  Ormond,  and 
Murrough  O’Brien  of  Inchiqnin ! “ So  far,”  says  the  candid 

Protestant,  Gr.  L.  Smith,  “ the  Roman  Catholic  party  was 
revenged,  if  not  righted.  Ormond  would  not  yield  them  reli- 
gious freedom,  and  their  prelates  drove  him  out  of  the  country.” 
Was  ever  a more  signal  instance  of  divine  retribution1?  De- 
feated as  they  were,  and  by  his  machinations,  the  hierarchy 
of  Ireland  had  still  power  enough  to  drive  their  arch  enemy 
from  the  land  which  he  had  ruled  with  all  but  kingly  power  ! 

At  Ormond’s  departure,  he  appointed  Lord  Clanrickarde  his 
deputy,  hoping  thereby  to  conciliate  the  Catholics,  but,  alas ! 
Clanrickarde  was  just  as  much  distrusted  by  his  co-religionists  as 
Ormond  himself,  and  as  he  had  kept  coldly  aloof  from  them 
when  his  aid  might  have  perchance  crowned  their  efforts  with 
success,  so  now  they  looked  on  with  stoical  indifference  whilst 
he  vainly  struggled  to  check  the  power  of  Cromwell  and  the 
Puritans.  Sir  Pbelkn  O'Neill,  however,  was  at  last  induced  to 
join  him  with  what  forces  he  had  yet  at  his  command,  but  their 
joint  efforts  were  of  no  avail.  On  and  on  swept  the  destroying 
host,  laying  waste  all  the  land,  and  sparing  neither  man,  woman 
nor  child  in  its  fanatical  fury.  The  new  Lord  Lieutenant  and 
his  ally  were  driven  back,  back  into  the  far  north,  still  fighting 
against  tearful  odds  ; they  succeeded  in  taking  Ballyshannon 
and  Donegal,  but  lost  both  again,  and  were  at  last  surrounded 
on  all  sides.  Lord  Clanrickarde  was  so  fortunate  as  to  effect  his 
escape,  but  Sir  Phelim  was  captured  and  taken  in  chains  to 
Dublin  on  account  of  the  reward  offered  for  his  apprehension. 

The  last  scene  in  Sir  Phelim’s  life  was  as  noble  as  any  we 
have  witnessed  during  the  whole  of  that  long-protracted  strug- 
gle. His  capture  was  justly  considered  as  a death-blow  to  the 
national  cause,  and  although  he  had  the  semblance  of  a trial, 
his  condemnation  was  more  from  his  well-known  character  as  a 
Catholic  leader  than  any  evidence  brought  against  him.  There 
was  a distinctive  feature  in  his  case,  nevertheless,  which  some- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


455 


what  delayed  the  execution  of  his  sentence.  The  horror  where- 
with the  execution  of  Charles  the  First  was  regarded  by  all 
Europe,  and  even  by  the  greater  part  of  the  English  realm,  had 
driven  the  regicide  parliament  fo  look  around  for  plausible  pre- 
tences to  justify  their  crime,  and  finding  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  at 
last  in  their  clutches,  they  remembered  the  royal  commission 
which,  at  the  first  rising  in  Ulster,  he  had  exhibited  to  his  fol- 
lowers. This  was  ostentatiously  alluded  to  on  his  trial,  but  to 
the  surprise  of  all,  Sir  Phelim  boldly  declared  that  the  so-called 
royal  commission  was  an  ingenious  device  of  his  own,  and  that 
his  gracious  majesty,  Charles  the  First,  had  no  more  to  do  with 
his  making  war  than  the  great  Mogul  or  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad. 
He  was  asked,  how  then  did  he  come  by  the  commission,  to 
which  he  frankly  replied  that  when  he  took  the  Castle  of 
Charlemont  in  the  year  of  ’41,  he  found  in  an  old  cabinet  in  a 
certain  room  of  that  edifice,  a patent  with  the  broad  seal  of 
England  appended,  and  immediately  conceiving  the  idea  of 
counterfeiting  a royal  commission,  he  then  and  there  cut  off*  the 
seal  and  had  it  transferred  to  a document  prepared  by  him.* 

This  statement,  so  humiliating  and  yet  so  praiseworthy,  was 
more  galling  to  the  regicide  Puritans  than  can  well  be  imagined. 
Some  of  their  most  eminent  officials  in  Ireland  visited  Sir  Phe- 
lim in  his  prison,  and  made  use  of  every  art  to  induce  him  to 
criminate  the  late  man , Charles  Stuart.  But  Sir  Phelim  was 
firm  as  a rock.  Truth  was  truth,  and  not  to  save  his  life  would 
he,  the  descendant  of  a princely  line,  the  champion  of  Catholic 
rights,  prevaricate  in  that  final  hour. 

His  fate  was  sealed,  and  he  stood  on  the  scaffold.  Let  the 
Protestant  minister,  Warner,  tell  of  his  last  moments.f  He  is 

* It  will  he  remembered  that  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  was  a member  of 
J;he  legal  profession. 

t Yet  this  same  Warner,  in  the  very  same  paragraph,  speaks  of  this 
very  Sir  Phelim  as  “ profligate  to  the  last  degree” — in  God’s  name, 
how  could  a man  manifesting  so  much  heroism,  such  a conscientious 
regard  for  truth  in  bis  last  moments,  be  considered  as  “ profligate  to 
the  last  degree  Truly,  this  is  a fair  specimen  of  Protestant  logic 
as  regards  Catholics  and  their  religion. 


456 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


quoting  the  testimony  of  a certain  Dean  Ker,  no  friend,  surely, 
of  poor 'Phelim  O’Neill : 

“ Hoping  still  that  they  should  prevail  with  SirPhelim  O’Neill, 
when  the  terrors  of  death  were  nearer,  the  Dean  deposeth  fur- 
ther, that  he  was  present  and  very  near  Sir  Phelim  when  he  was 
upon  the  ladder  at  his  execution  ; and  that  two  Marshals  came 
riding  to  tbe  place  in  great  hurry,  calling  aloud  ‘ stop  a little,’ 
and  having  passed  through  the  crowd,  one  of  them  whispered 
him  some  time,  and  Sir  Phelim  O’Neill  answered  him,  in  the 
hearing  of  the  Dean  and  several  hundreds  round  him,  ‘ I thank 
the  Lieutenant-General — meaning  Fleetwood — for  this  intended 
mercy ; but  I declare,  good  people,  before  God  and  His  holy 
Angels,  and  all  you  that  hear  me,  that  I never  had  any  commis- 
sion from  the  King  for  what  I have  done  in  levying  or  prosecut- 
ing this  war.’  ” 

He  also  expressed  himself  truly  sorry  for  any  unnecessary 
bloodshed  or  outrage  of  any  kind  which,  in  furtherance  of  their 
lawful  and  conscientious  war,  his  followers  might  have  commit- 
ted, and  commending  his  soul  to  God,  the  fatal  drop  was  lowered 
and  Stout  Phelim — stout  and  staunch  to  the  last,  wras  launched 
into  eternity — the  martyr  of  truth,  as  he  has  been  aptly  styled. 

The  death  of  Sir  Phelim  0 Neill  is  assuredly  no  less  noble 
or  heroic  than  that  of  Lord  Maguire  or  Costelloe  McMahon.  If 
in  that  one  instance  he  had  swerved  grievously  from  the  path  of 
rectitude,  he  nobly  expiated  his  fault,  a fault  which  was  cer- 
tainly extenuated,  if  not  justified,  by  the  motive  he  had  in  view. 
The  hatred  which  the  Puritans  bore  to  his  name  was  manifested 
after  his  death.  His  head  was  placed  over  the  gate  at  the 
Bridge-foot  in  Dublm,*  and  the  four  quarters  of  his  body  sent  to 
various  cities  for  similar  exhibition,  and  the  greater  intimidation 
of  all  traitors. 

And  this  was  the  end  of  Sir  Phelim  O’  Neill.  In-felix  Felix , 
the  most  hated  and  calumniated  of  all  the  Confederate  Chieftains 
— the  first  who  raised  their  standard  in  Ulster,  and  the  last  to 
let  it  fall.  His  name  and  his  memory  should  be  dear  to  the 
Catholics  of  Ireland,  and  they,  at  least,  should  remember  that 

* See  Gilbert’s  Dublin , Yol.  I.,  p.  325. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


457 


the  heroic  devotion  of  so  many  years  to  a great  cause,  and  the 
nobleness  of  his  end,  should  efface  the  memory  of  any  human 
frailties  to  which  he  was  subject.  He  was  a man  of  strong 
passions,  and  nature  had  cast  him  in  a rough  mould,  but  we 
have  ample  evidence  in  the  facts  already  mentioned  that  there 
was  an  innate  nobleness  and  elevation  of  character  beneath  that 
ungracious  exterior. 

“ Why  is  his  name  unsung,  0 ! minstrel  host  ? 

Why  do  you  pass  his  memory  like  a ghost? 

Why  is  no  rose,  no  laurel,  on  his  grave  ? 

Was  he  not  constant,  vigilant,  and  brave? 

Why,  when  that  hero-age  you  deify, 

Why  do  you  pass  ‘ In-felix  Felix  by  V 

“ He  rose  the  first— he  looms  the  morning  star 
Of  that  long,  glorious,  unsuccessful  war? 

England  abhors  him  ! Has  she  not  abhorr’d 
Ad  who  for  Ireland  ventured  life  or  word  ? 

What  memory  would  she  not  have  cast  away 
That  Ireland  hugs  in  her  heart’s  heart  to-day  ? 

“ He  rose  in  wrath  to  free  his  fettei’d  land, 

‘ There’s  blood— there’s  Saxon  blood— upon  his  hand.’ 

Ay  ! so  they  say  !— three  thousand  less  or  more, 

He  sent  untimely  to  the  Stygian  shore — 

They  were  the  keepers  of  the  prison-gate— 

He  slew  them,  his  whole  race  to  liberate. 

“ 0 ! Clear-eyed  Poets,  ye  who  can  descry, 

Thro’  vulgar  heaps  of  dead,  where  heroes  lie— 

Ye  to  whose  glance  the  primal  mist  is  clear— 

Behold  there  lies  a trampled  Noble  here. 

Shall  we  not  leave  a mark  ? shall  we  not  do 
Justice  to  one  so  hated  and  so  true  ? 

“ If  even  his  hand  and  hilt  were  so  distain’ d, 

If  he  was  guilty,  as  he  has  been  blamed, 

His  death  redeem’d  his  life— he  chose  to  die, 

Rather  than  get  his  freedom  with  a lie  ; 

Plant  o’er  his  gallant  heart  a laurel  tree, 

So  may  his  head  within  the  shadow  be. 

“ I mourn  for  thee,  0,  hero  of  the  North — 

God  judge  thee  gentler  than  we  do  on  earth  ! 

I mourn  for  thee,  and  for  our  Land,  because 
She  dare  not  own  the  martyrs  in  her  cause. 

But  they,  our  poets,  they  who  justify 
They  will  not  let  tby  memory  rot  or  die.”* 

* If  Ireland  owed  no  other  debt  of  gratitude  to  Thomas  D’Arcy 
McGee  than  the  above  spirited  stanzas,  it  would  be  no  trifling  one. 
20 


458 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


It  was  well  for  Rory  O’More  that  his  generous  heart  was 
spared  the  misery  of  those  tragic  scenes.  He  died,  we  are  told, 
in  Flanders,  “ of  a broken  heart,”  on  hearing  of  the  fatal  dissen- 
sions tearing  asunder  the  glorious  Confederation  which  his  ge- 
nius had  planned.*  Well  for  him  that  he  lived  not  to  witness 
the  utter  ruin  of  the  cause,  the  bloody  extinction  of  the  nation’s 
hopes,  but  late  so  fair  and  rich  in  promise!  Well  for  him  that 
he  was  taken  hence  before  the  infuriate  followers  of  Cromwell 
were  left  to  work  their  will  on  faithful,  devoted  Ireland. 

A terrible  picture  of  the  bloody  Cromwellian  period  is  found 
in  the  truthful  pages  of  George  Lewis  Smith  to  which  I have  so 
often  referred  : “ The  cruelties  of  the  Puritans,”  says  he,  “ dur- 
ing their  uncontrolled  occupation  of  Ireland,  are  not  to  be 
outmatched  in  the  long  catalogue  of  enormities  by  which  the 
history  of  Christian  Europe  has  been  blackened.  Fanaticism 
never  exhibited  itself  in  a mood  at  once  so  stern  and  wild. 
Vindictive  interpreters  of  the  spirit  of  the  Old  Testament,  they 
imbibed  a blasphemous  conviction  that  God  had  punished  an 
idolatrous  people  by  subjecting  their  lives  and  properties  to.the 
despotic  authority  of  a ‘ purer  race  elect.’  As  Joshua  used  the 
Gideonites  so  the  Puritans  scourged  their  Irish  serfs  with  rods  of 
iron.  At  least  40,000  Irishmen  were  transported  as  slaves  to 
the  West  Indies.  The  peasantry  were  strictly  forbidden  to  stir 
out  of  their  respective  parishes  without  leave ; they  were  not 
allowed  to  assemble  for  religious  worship  or  any  other  purpose  ; 
their  priests  were  commanded  to  fly  the  country  under  pain  of 
death  ; and  when  it  was  discovered  that  some  faithful  pastors, 
unmoved  by  these  frightful  denunciations,  still  administered  the 
consolations  of  religion  in  caverns,  hid  amidst  the  wild  fastnesses 
of  uncultivated  mountains,  or  in  turf-covered  huts,  pitched  upon 

There  have  been  few  amongst  us  to  do  justice  to  the  memory  of  this 
gallant  but  unfortunate  chieftain — let  us  hope  that  after  times  and 
after  generations  of  Catholics  may  give  him  credit  for  his  unexam- 
pled devotion  to  the  cause  of  his  country  and  her  ancient  faith, 

* Some  writers  say  that  it  was  in  Kilkenny  Rory  O’More  ended  his 
mortal  pilgrimage,  but  I am  rather  inclined  to  the  opinion  of  those 
who  lay  the  scene  of  his  death  abroad. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


459 


the  cheerless  centre  of  some  deserted  bog,  bloodhounds  were 
employed  to  track  the  martyrs  to  their  retreats,  and  priest- 
hunting became  one  of  the  field  sports  of  the  country.”* 

Such  was  the  dismal  condition  to  which  the  suicidal  policy  of 
the  Norman  nobles,  and  the  bickerings  and  dissensions  within 
the  Catholic  body  had  consigned  Ireland — such  the  state  of 
things  which  followed  on  the  final  overthrow  of  The  Confeder- 
ate Chieftains! 

Those  of  my  readers  who  take  an  interest  in  the  fortunes  of 
Judith  O’Cahan  and  her  young  friend  Emmeline,  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  they  were  safely  conducted  to  Madrid  by  Donogh  the 
Rapparee,  in  pursuance  of  the  last  solemn  injunction  of  Owen 
Roe.  Long  before  the  horrors  of  the  last  tragic  era  had  com- 
menced— before  Cromwell  had  crimsoned  one  field  of  Ulster 
with  the  blood  of  its  heroic  children — whilst  Phelim  and  Heber 
were  yet  masters  of  the  north,  and  the  Red  Hand  was  still  in 
its  power,  the  betrothed  of  Owen  Roe  and  of  Connor  Maguire 
were  sheltered  beneath  the  roof  of  a Spanish  Dominican  con- 
vent, where  the  greatness  of  their  sorrows  commanded  respect, 
and  won  tender  sympathy.  There, 

“ The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot,” 

they  spent  the  remaining  years  of  their  earthly  sojourn  in  the 
practice  of  penance,  and  the  soothing  exercise  of  that  devotion 
which  souls  purified  by  suffering  can  alone  appreciate.  The 
memory  of  the  loved  and  lost  never  faded  from  their  minds — • 
identified  as  they  were  with  all  that  was  great  and  noble,  but 
the  wild  excitement  of  the  stormy  war-time  gradually  blended 
with  the  pa  t,  and  seemed  through  the  mist  of  years  no  more 
than  the  troubles  of  a feverish  dream. 

As  for  Donogh  he  was  nearly  alone  in  the  world — Shamus 
Beg  had  fallen  in  the  vain  effort  to  save  his  chief  from  the  hands 
of  Coote’s  troopers — most  of  his  brave  associates  had  dropped 
one  after  another  in  their  ceaseless  encounters  wdtli  the  enemy, 
but  the  few  who  remained  were  resolved  to  fight  the  Crom- 
wellians  whilst  an  Irish  banner  was  on  the  breeze,  and  Donogh, 

i 

* Ireland , Historical  and  Statistical , Vol.  II , p.  65. 


460 


TIIE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


himself  of  the  same  mind,  contrived  to  make  his  way  back  from 
Spain  just  in  time  to  see  the  end  of  it.  He  was  slain  a few 
months  after  the  tragical  end  of  Sir  Plielim ; — whilst  he  and  a 
few  of  his  gallant  Rapparees  were  conveying  an  aged  priest 
through  the  fastnesses  of  Donegal  on  their  way  to  Connaught, 
they  were  suddenly  beset  by  a party  of  Montgomery’s  horse,  and 
every  man  of  them  fell  fighting  around  the  priest  who  was  then 
hung  from  the  crag  of  a neighboring  rock. 

Clanrickarde  reaped  the  reward  of  his  worldly  wisdom.  On 
the  restoration  of  the  Stuarts,  he  retired  to  his  Euglish  estates, 
where  he  spent  the  few  remaining  years  of  his  life  in  what  the 
world  calls  “ dignified  retirement.”  Peace,  we  can  hardly  think 
he  enjoyed  with  the  groans  of  Cromwell’s  victims  ringing  in  his 
ears,  and  the  blood  of  thousands  of  martyrs  weighing  on  his  soul. 

There  remains  but  one  of  the  prominent  characters  of  our 
tale  to  be  noticed — the  great,  the  learned,  the  saintly  Nicholas 
French.  After  doing  all  that  man  could  do  with  his  voice  and 
with  his  pen  for  the  liberation  of  his  country,  he  was  destined 
to  outlive  nearly  all  the  associates  of  his  arduous  toils.  He  had 
gone  abroad  before  the  breaking  up  of  the  Confederacy  for  the 
purpose  of  soliciting  yet  more  liberal  aid  from  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  of  Europe,  and  he  never  returned,  for  the  utter  ruin 
of  the  cause  and  the  bloody  persecution  going  on  in  Ireland, 
made  it  well  for  him  to  be  abroad.  Yet  though  absent  from 
Ireland  his  heart  was  there,  and  in  the  seclusion  of  various  uni- 
versities where  his  fame  and  his  learning  made  him  an  honored 
guest,  he  devoted  his  powerful  pen  to  the  service  of  his  op- 
pressed country. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  Life  of  Bishop  French,  in  McGee’s 
Gallery  of  Irish  Writers,  we  find  the  following  beautiful  and 
most  vivid  account  of  the  end  of  that  patriotic  prelate  : 

“ On  the  23d  of  August,  in  the  year  of  grace,  1678,  the  vast 
Cathedral  of  Ghent  saw  a melancholy  sight.  In  its  basilica 
was  laid  the  corpse  of  a bishop.  Many  lights  gleamed  around 
— the  mitre  and  the  staff  were  by  his  side,  the  shoes  on  his 
feet,  and  the  purple  over  his  cold  bosom.  Whoever  looked 
upon  that  face,  newly  inanimate,  might  perceive  the  lines 
of  thought,  and  the  lineaments  of  high  resolve  and  noblest 


THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS. 


461 


courage  imprinted  upon  it.  It  was  the  mortal  form  and  face 
of  the  great  exiled  Irish  bishop.  He  had  yielded  up  his  soul 
to  God,  and  his  memory  to  his  country.  His  monument  and 
grave  are  under  the  roof  of  that  sombre  Cathedral.  His  char- 
acter and  his  fame  are  our  inheritance.  Let  us  consider  how  to 
appreciate  their  value.”* 

As  for  Luke  Wadding  there  is  reason  to  think  that  his  heart 
was  broken  by  the  failure  of  the  Catholic  cause  in  his  native 
land,  that  cause  for  which  he  had  done  so  much  and  labored 
so  devotedly.  He  died  in  1657  in  Rome,  honored  and  beloved 
by  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  and  the  greatest  lite- 
rati of  that  age,  for  Wadding  was  a distinguished  scholar  and 
an  eminent  writer,  as  well  as  an  illustrious  patriot.  “His  funeral 
was  solemnly  celebrated ; his  grave  is  in  St.  Isidore’s,  and  over 
it  a tomb,  raised  to  Ms  memory  by  a noble  Roman,  who  was 
his  friend  through  life.  ...  It  bears  a brief  inscription  in 

Latin.”t 

And  Rinuccini — did  he  forget  Ireland  on  his  return  to  Italy  ? 
Not  so — he  did  all  that  in  his  power  lay  to  advance  her  cause, 
but  he  did  not  long  survive  the  close  of  his  Irish  nunciature, 
and  died,  Heaven  be  praised  ! before  the  dark  days  came  again 
upon  that  Church  of  Ireland,  for  whose  freedom  he  had  labored 
so  strenuously.  It  is  recorded  that  on  his  return  to  Rome  he 
caused  a series  of  frescoes  to  be  painted  in  his  palace  at  Fermo, 
illustrating  the  principal  battles  fought  in  Ireland  during  his 
nunciature 4 No  better  proof  could  be  given  of  his  love  for  that 
country  than  thus  perpetuating  on  canvas  the  glories  of  Benburb, 
Bunratty  (where  himself  had  commanded),  and  Ballaghmore ! 

Their  souls  are,  we  trust,  with  God,  those  illustrious  Confede- 
rates, and  their  ashes  spread  abroad  over  many  lands,  but  so 
long  as  the  children  of  Ireland  are  true  to  their  ancient  faith, 
so  long  will  their  names  be  a rich  inheritance,  their  deeds  and 
their  virtues  a glorious  model  for  all  after  times  ! 

* Gallery  of  Irish  writers,  p.  163.  t Ibid,  p.  101. 

$ Meehan’s  Confederation,  p.  227 


THE  END. 


* 


Date  Due 

1 V 5 Of 

V? 


PS  54PL IER,  Ma.ru  4iw. 

XlH  / 

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